


Quidditch House Rules

by Zeplerfer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hogwarts, M/M, Pottertalia, Quidditch, bad friends trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 75,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/pseuds/Zeplerfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred F. Jones will do whatever it takes to become the best Quidditch player at Hogwarts. Even if it means joining Slytherin and going broom-to-broom with the Gryffindor seeker, Arthur Kirkland. Flipped Houses!USUK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sorting Hat

Alfred F. Jones was going places. In a physical sense, he was on the Hogwarts Express, prepared to start his 6th year of magical studies. In a metaphorical sense, he was on his way to achieving his life-long ambition of becoming a world-renowned Quidditch player.

He had studied the Hogwarts Quidditch teams very carefully over the past year, reading every story he could find about the different teams and games. Unfortunately, the school didn't allow photographs (since all of the players were minors), nor did they allow video, but Alfred could piece together a lot of information just from reading news articles. The Ravenclaw team had some decent chasers and Hufflepuff had the best keeper, but Gryffindor was the best overall team. Most importantly, they had the best seeker: Arthur Kirkland, now starting his seventh year, had led his team to Quidditch Cup victory for three years in a row.

Alfred could probably win a spot on the Gryffindor team, but he knew he wouldn't be able to replace Kirkland as seeker and he wasn't willing to sit on the sidelines for a whole year. Alfred was never one to take no for an answer. He decided that since he couldn't join him, he'd have to beat him. Slytherin had an excellent group of chasers and beaters, but a terrible seeker. Alfred could take the team to victory as its new seeker, and then he would definitely secure a professional Quidditch position when the scouts came to watch the cup match at Hogwarts. Nothing packed the seats like a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match.

Ever since his parents gave him his first broomstick at age five, Alfred had dreamed of becoming a professional Quidditch player. As soon as he began his first year at the Salem Institute of Magic he joined the school team, quickly earning the coveted position of seeker (it hadn't been hard, since most American students preferred Quodpot). But Alfred knew that his best odds for joining a professional team required playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, so he begged and pleaded with his parents to let him transfer.

The first four years, they said no. He was still too young and his grades weren't good enough.

The fifth year, they finally relented and said he could transfer, but only if he scored an Outstanding on at least five OWLs.

To their great surprise, Alfred met that goal.

So the sixth year, with much hugging and kissing, they said goodbye to their son at the King's Cross train station and wished him good luck during the school year. Alfred grabbed his bags, promised to write often, and waved a cheerful goodbye.

A little too late, Alfred realized that if he wanted an empty compartment, he should have arrived earlier. As the train wound its way through the countryside just north of London, he found himself walking past each compartment, finding that most were completely full or occupied by younger students.

Finally, he spotted one with only two students. They both had their noses buried in a book, but at least they looked to be his age or older. Based on school colors, he could tell that the dark-haired Asian student was in Ravenclaw and the sandy blond one was in Gryffindor. Alfred opened the door and smiled widely. "Got room for one more?"

The Ravenclaw student looked up from his book and nodded.

Alfred beamed and stored his luggage on the racks above the seats. He plopped down next to the dark-haired student and spent a few minutes gazing out the window as the English countryside flashed past. He grew bored after a few minutes, and leaned over to see what the Asian boy was reading so intently. The student slammed his book closed and pulled away.

"Kiku doesn't like it when people invade his personal space," the Gryffindor sitting across from them explained, his eyes briefly flickering up before returning to his book.

"Sorry, dude." Alfred grinned apologetically and scooched to the edge of the seat to give Kiku more space. Kiku nodded in thanks. Alfred realized he had forgotten introductions.

"My name's Alfred, by the way."

"Arthur," the Gryffindor crisply replied as he finally looked up to face Alfred. Because of the way he hunched over to read, Arthur's bangs had covered most of his forehead, hiding the fact that he had humungous eyebrows. Now they were blindingly obvious and Alfred couldn't stop staring. He had never seen such monstrous eyebrows before in his life. It was like caterpillars were devouring the poor boy's forehead.

"Dude, do you need help removing that jinx?" Alfred exclaimed. Arthur was just a stranger, but it would be cruel to let anyone walk into Hogwarts with those eyebrows. Someone was clearly playing a cruel prank on the other boy.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What jinx?"

"Your eyebrows! They're jinxed... aren't they?"

The Gryffindor flushed and then glared. "There's nothing wrong with my eyebrows!" he replied hotly, his face a mask of embarrassment and irritation.

"Seriously?" Alfred stared in disbelief. He found it hard to believe that giant eyebrows could be the work of anything other than magic. The idea of large eyebrows tugged at his memory from something he'd seen in the Quidditch articles, but it had been only a passing reference, and he couldn't quite remember what it had said. He pulled himself back to the present just in time to hear the sputtering denial from the other blond student.

"Yes! They're perfectly normal. Now kindly shut up and stop being such a prat."

"Oh, okay," Alfred replied, since he didn't want to get kicked out of the compartment. He patted his pockets and pulled out a packet of Skittles, then opened the package noisily and started munching the rainbow-colored candies. He watched the countryside for a few more minutes, but it hadn't changed much in the past few minutes. Yep, England was still really green. After another few minutes, he broke the silence.

"Hey, what's a prat?"

"You are," Arthur retorted.

"Well, if I'm a prat, then why do _you_ have the little badge with a 'P' on it?"

Arthur looked at Alfred like he was an idiot. "This is a prefect badge," he explained slowly. "It means that I monitor student behavior. I can even deduct points."

"So… basically you're a teacher's pet?"

Arthur returned to his book and refused to dignify the comment with a response.

Recognizing that he wasn't going to be able to draw Arthur and Kiku into a conversation, Alfred pulled his Nintendo DS out of his luggage. If nothing else, at least he could finish a few more puzzles in Professor Layton. He spent minutes poring over one of the puzzles, completely unable to finish it. He looked up in surprise when Kiku tapped the screen.

"Huh? Wanna give it a try?" Alfred asked. He handed over the video game. Within seconds, Kiku beat the puzzle. Alfred watched in amazement as Kiku blazed his way through the game. He'd never heard of a Professor Layton speed run, but if there was one, this boy would definitely set the record.

The only problem was that Alfred was bored again and now he didn't have a video game for entertainment. He turned to look at Arthur and caught the Gryffindor boy staring at him from over the top of his book. Arthur's eyes quickly flickered back to his book and he pretended that he hadn't been caught staring.

Alfred smiled and shifted seats so that he was sitting next to Arthur. He leaned over to read the book. It looked like the potions textbook he had used last year.

"So, you're a fifth year, huh?" Alfred asked.

Arthur frowned. "No."

"But that's a fifth year book."

Kiku tapped the wall to catch Alfred's attention. He held up seven fingers then gestured to himself and Arthur.

Alfred frowned as he tried to reason why a seventh year would use a fifth year book. Suddenly, he realized the answer and laughed. "Dude! You've had to repeat the class… twice! You're officially the worst teacher's pet ever."

"God, you're such a prat," Arthur grumbled.

"But I still don't know what the means!"

"That doesn't make you less of one."

"Want any help?"

"No."

After a bit of pressuring and a reminder that Alfred had not only passed the class, but had even received an 'O' on his Potions OWL, Arthur gave in. They placed the book between them and covered the main potions. Alfred scribbled notes in the margins, pointing out places where you had to add an extra step to get the best result or ignore part of the instructions. It turned out that Arthur was a little too meticulous in following the text, ignoring warning signs like a bubbling pot because he believed following the text was the only correct approach. They happily passed an hour with their heads leaned together over the book. Alfred couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun studying. Arthur was a quick learner (and kinda cute), he just needed a nudge in the right direction.

They both glanced up when Kiku began rummaging in his luggage. Kiku pulled out his own Prefect badge and arched an eyebrow at Arthur.

"Kiku and I are in charge of patrolling the train corridors for the next hour," Arthur explained with a touch of reject as he pulled on his robes and carefully stored his wand in his pocket. Alfred accepted the return of his video game console and waved goodbye. It was a long ride to Hogwarts, so they'd have more time to chat later.

Alfred returned to his last saved game and spent another half hour metaphorically banging his head against logic puzzles. He really needed to figure out Kiku's secret. Maybe it came from spending more time thinking and less time talking. About ready to give up on the game for the day, Alfred paused and looked up when he heard whispers outside the door.

"Yes, I'm sure this is the right compartment!" one voice whispered loudly.

Another voice replied, too quietly for Alfred to hear.

Alfred looked up at the door, not quite sure what to expect. As it opened, he saw three Slytherin students: an albino, a brunet, and a blond. He wondered if they sometimes walked into bars in order to set up the punch line for a joke. They were tall and handsome and their cocky grins and confident stride told the world that they were ready for mischief.

"Mmm, looks like we have some fresh meat," the blond purred with a French accent

"Kesesese, I think we should have some fun," added the albino.

"Si, I love fun!" the brunet cheerfully agreed.

Alfred gaped at the three Slytherin students as they took the empty seats. The albino and the dark-haired student sat together, while the Frenchman sat down next to Alfred and casually slung his arm across Alfred's shoulders. Alfred probably wouldn't have noticed it if he had met them one at a time, but taken together, he could easily identify the trio.

"Wow, you're on the Slytherin Quidditch team!" Alfred gushed. "Oh man, it's so cool to meet you guys. That was an awesome game you played last spring against Ravenclaw. It's pretty awesome to see a team win the game without catching the snitch."

The three shared a look. If Alfred was more perceptive, he would have realized that he had suddenly been reclassified from "prey" to "potential ally."

The albino grinned. "Finally, someone that recognizes my awesomeness!"

They introduced themselves as Francis, Antonio, and the awesome Gilbert and proceeded to brag about their Quidditch prowess and all of their glorious antics terrorizing Hogwarts. For the first time in centuries, their house had succeeding in accumulating more than a thousand negative points in the competition for the House Cup. They hadn't had a prefect in years because no one qualified. Alfred was impressed. He lost track of time and didn't realize that an hour had passed until Arthur and Kiku returned.

Arthur glared furiously at the Slytherins. "What are you doing in my compartment?" he growled dangerously.

"Hey Arthur, meet Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis!" Alfred introduced his new friends.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know who they are. They've spent the past six years trying to make my life an absolute terror. And they have ten seconds to leave or I will hex them so thoroughly that they won't be able to sit for the next week."

The three stood up and casually exited the compartment. Francis winked, "Oh Arthur, you know that if I had my way, you would be the one left unable to sit on your adorable derriere." Arthur sputtered and pushed him out, showing a surprising amount of strength for his lean, short body.

"Arthur, _mon cher_ , it is always a pleasure!" Francis called as he stumbled out of the train cabin.

"The feeling is completely one-sided, I assure you." Arthur tried to slam the door shut, but Francis succeeded in wedging his foot into the gap.

Francis peeked in. "Alfred, you're welcome to come join us, if you'd like."

Alfred glanced between the two, torn between his desire to get to know the other Slytherin Quidditch team members and the powerful desire to continue tutoring Arthur in potions. But he knew that only one of those options would help him become a great Quidditch player. He stood up and grabbed his luggage.

Arthur frowned. "Let me give you a bit of advice: your life will be much easier if you stay away from those three clowns."

"I like them. But hey, it was nice to meet you two! Hopefully I'll see you again later."

"Don't count on it. I'm sure you'll be very happy with your new friends," Arthur said as he crossed his arms across his chest and scowled.

Alfred smiled apologetically and trailed behind Francis. He heard the door slam shut behind them.

* * *

Arthur stared at the empty seat, trying to not feel upset that the younger blond student had so blatantly rejected him in favor of his arch-rivals. Alfred was attractive, friendly, and surprisingly good at potions. Arthur didn't understand why the boy would want to associate with Slytherin pranksters. And for the life of him, he didn't know how Francis had managed to hook his claws into the lad so quickly.

Arthur contemplated returning to his study of potions, but decided to take a break for lunch. He ate his delicious sandwich as he gazed out the window. Kiku resumed reading a book on the other seat, perfectly content to keep the silence. It was one of the reasons he liked spending time with Kiku.

Gentle hills and rivers rolled past as Arthur leaned his forehead against the window. He resolved to push Alfred out of his head with a bit of studying. He reached for his potions book, but his hands met only thin air. Arthur glanced under the seat to see if his book had fallen on the floor.

Arthur pulled out his wand and cast a summoning charm.

He frowned when the book still didn't appear.

His frown turned to a glare as he realized that the book wasn't appearing because it had been stolen. And he knew who stole it. Arthur stalked out of his compartment and followed the sound of annoying French laughter to his goal.

Arthur pushed opened the door. "Give it back!" he demanded.

"Oh? You want what back, _mon cher_?" Francis smirked and tightened his arm around Alfred's shoulders, claiming his newest possession.

Arthur glared, refusing to be baited. "You are going to return my potions textbook this minute or I swear I will find a way to have you all kicked off your Quidditch team."

"If you need a book, I think I still have my fifth-year potions book around somewhere," Antonio suggested helpfully.

"Your potions book was a bunch of tomato recipes," Gilbert corrected.

" _Por supuesto_! Who needs potions when you have tomatoes?"

" _Kesesese_ , mine was awesome beer recipes!"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Would you care to join us?" Francis asked. He pulled to the edge of the seat and gestured at the small gap between him and Alfred.

Alfred gave Arthur his most welcoming smile and patted the seat. He wanted nothing better than to talk with his future teammates, but it had been fun spending time with Arthur too. It would be better if they got along. Alfred honestly didn't understand why Hogwarts students put so much emphasis on the house system. The Salem Institute didn't bother with that nonsense.

Francis winked. "Ménage à trois means that there's always room for one more, _mon lapin_."

Arthur flushed red, turned on his heels, and walked away.

"Wait… Lupine? He's a werewolf?" Alfred asked.

Francis chuckled. "Non, 'lapin' means rabbit." He explained how a mistake with a polyjuice potion in their third-year had given Arthur rabbit ears for the rest of the day. Francis sighed wistfully as he described Arthur's adorably cute appearance. The French boy gave Alfred a sly look. "And if I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, I think our little rabbit is a bit taken with you."

Alfred laughed. "Why would you say that?"

Francis lifted up Arthur's textbook. "Because he left without his potions book."

* * *

Although they didn't make Alfred ride the boats with the first-years, he still had to line up for sorting. Alfred felt a little silly walking up to the Sorting Hat, since he was five years older and a good foot taller than any of the other students being sorted. Some of the girls giggled as he sat down on the too-short stool and placed the Hat on his head.

'I want to be in Slytherin!' Alfred told the Hat as soon as it touched his hair. He'd read that students had some choice in the sorting, but they had to think fast.

The Hat hesitated. 'Are you sure? Your bravery would be better placed in Gryffindor.'

Alfred shook his head. 'I'm going to become a professional Quidditch player, but I can only do that in Slytherin.'

He felt the Hat relax. 'Ah, ambition. A true Slytherin virtue.'

The Hat made its announcement, drawing a number of surprised stares. Alfred's happy smile and loud whoop of joy drew even more shock. In the two decades since the Second Wizarding War, Slytherin had suffered a huge loss of reputation. Very few wanted to be associated with Voldemort's house or its pure-blooded bigotry. Now, fewer than one in ten children joined that house. Many Slytherins transferred to other schools to avoid the guilt by association. The house had moved into a small tower, so that its former location under the lake could be used to house the additional Gryffindor students, who gleefully changed the greens to reds. No one sitting in the room had ever seen someone debate with the Hat in order to get _into_ Slytherin.

"Kesesese, join the awesome table!" Gilbert called.

As Alfred sat down, he could see Arthur glaring at him from across the room.

"Peter Kirkland… Gryffindor!" the Hat said as it resumed sorting. Arthur shifted his glare from Alfred to the short blond running up to the Gryffindor table. Alfred jerked his head when he heard the last name. Was Peter Kirkland related to Arthur Kirkland? He saw the boy approach Arthur and the pieces clicked together. He knew he had read about giant eyebrows somewhere! One of the earlier articles briefly described Arthur's eyebrows but that person mysteriously stopped writing Quidditch stories afterward and no one ever mentioned them again.

He had met Arthur Kirkland. He had actually met Arthur Kirkland. Damn, he should have asked for a signature. No, that would have been awkward. Still, it explained why the Gryffindor boy didn't like his Slytherin rivals.

Even though they would be rivals on the Quidditch field, Alfred wasn't going to let silly things like different houses stand between him and the Gryffindor seeker. They could be rivals and still become friends, right? Alfred squared his shoulders. He always loved a good challenge.

* * *

After finishing his Prefect duties and successfully avoiding his annoying cousin Peter, Arthur wearily climbed up the stairs to the Gryffindor dorm. He prepared to say the password when he noticed a familiar book lying near the wall.

Arthur cast a few spells to check for curses and suspiciously prodded his potions book with his wand. Eventually, he shrugged and picked it up. Inside he found a short note.

_Hey Arthur,_

_I figured you might want your potions book back. They doodled a bit in the margins, but it looks mostly okay. I've added a few more notes on some of the trickier potions. If you ever want more tutoring, I'm happy to help!_

_AFJ_

_P.S. Always remember rabbit fur for your polyjuice potion_ :)

Arthur scowled and threw away the note. Of course it would turn out to be just another joke at his expense. Arthur should have known that the young man's handsome face hid a cruel mind. He carefully hid his disappointment as he stepped into the Gryffindor lounge.

He walked past the loud group of gossiping students and climbed the staircase to the seventh year's room. He was supposed to help the newly sorted Gryffindor students settle in, but after his hectic day, Arthur was ready to let the students muddle along on their own.

The room for seventh year students was blessedly quiet since his roommates were still catching up with old friends down in the lounge. Arthur began to unpack his belongings from their neatly folded position in a trunk next to his bed. He set out clothes for tomorrow and books for his classes. Charms and potions. He stared at the potions book and pondered whether he dared use any of the tips from the American transfer student. He needed all of the help he could get, but relying on a Slytherin could easily blow up in his face.

Arthur set aside the book and resolved to forget about the Slytherin student. Sure, the young man had a pretty face, but it almost certainly hid a devious mind. Arthur resolved that he was not going to make the same mistake twice. Little did he realize... ignoring Alfred would be much more difficult than he expected.


	2. The First Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred meets a new friend and has his first match with Arthur.

Alfred was so excited for his first class at Hogwarts that he actually managed to arrive early. He walked into the half-empty classroom and grinned when he spotted Arthur. The American made a beeline for the English boy's desk. He wanted the chance to sit next to Arthur for an entire class now that he knew Arthur was actually Arthur Kirkland, the kickass Quidditch seeker. Alfred could talk about Quidditch for hours... and often did.

"Hey Arthur, how's it going?" Alfred asked as he set down his books on the empty side of the table. He reached for the seat, not expecting Arthur to object.

The Gryffindor boy looked up in surprise and quickly pulled the stool out of Alfred's grasp. "This seat is already taken," he said with a scowl.

"What? Come on, it's totally empty."

"No. It belongs to my flying mint-green bunny." Arthur caught Alfred's dubious expression and added, "He's invisible."

Alfred sighed and asked a few other students if he could sit next to them. They all said no. The American was about ready to give up and take one of the seats near the front (just like at muggle schools, the seats in front were always the least popular), when a Hufflepuff with blond pigtails responded with something other than 'no.'

Instead, she replied, "Eh?"

Assuming that meant no, Alfred reached for his books and turned to leave, but the girl grabbed his sleeve and smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry! Of course you can sit here. I was just surprised that you noticed me. My name's Madeleine," she said, moving her books to the side of the table to make room for Alfred.

"Hey, you're American!" Alfred replied happily as he dumped his books on the table. He could tell it was an old table from its intricate network of scratches and blast marks, each bearing testament to the countless failed spells the table had witnessed over the years. It was strange to go to school in a castle. He could feel the history weighing him down at every turn. (The ghosts in particular were absolutely terrifying, but his parents had given him a Ghost-Be-Gone charm as a parting gift, so the spirits had to stay at least 100 feet away.)

"Actually, I'm Canadian," Madeleine corrected softly. She opened her book to the front section. It looked like the class was starting on various truth spells.

"That's a type of American… North American!" Alfred joked. That was about the extent of his geographic knowledge, so it felt good to have a chance to show it off.

The Charms Professor called the two dozen students in the class to attention, explaining that the shortage of students interested in taking the Charms NEWT meant that sixth and seventh years from all the houses were enrolled in the class together. She launched into the first topic for the year: truth charms. After she explained that the Veritas charm would prevent a person from lying (though it was weaker than Veritaserum, which _compelled_ a person to answer truthfully), she instructed the students to practice on each other well trying to tell outrageous lies.

"I have a pet tiger," Alfred said before Madeleine cast the charm. Then he tried to repeat the same lie. "I have a... well... my cat _is_ large," he admitted under the spell's effect.

Madeleine laughed. "Here, try me." She scrunched up her nose as Alfred cast the spell. "I have a pet bear," she said. Alfred frowned, thinking he had miscast the spell, before Madeleine reassured him that she actually did have a magical talking pet bear. She promised to bring her to class next time, explaining that the professors didn't care because they didn't notice.

"The spell is used to best effect on an unsuspecting target," the charms professor explained, "since they might let the truth slip out unintentionally, whereas a person who realizes that they have been charmed will simply refuse to answer your questions. That's it for today class, be sure to practice the charm on at least three different people before next class."

"Professor, are you encouraging us to practice the charm on other students?" a girl asked from the front of the class.

The charms professor smiled. "Of course. The world would be a better place with more truth."

As the students bustled to their next class, Alfred glanced at the empty seat next to Arthur and pursed his lips. Two questions suddenly occurred to him. How could a bunny be both invisible and green? And if it was flying, why would it need a seat?

He wanted answers and now he knew how to get them. But first, he wanted lunch.

(And then he decided to take an afternoon nap. And then Francis asked for some help with a spell involving the food in the dining hall. Alfred wasn't avoiding a confrontation with Arthur... he was just easily distracted.)

* * *

Having failed to make even a simple Forgetfulness Potion (a potion typically assigned to third years) during his arduous one-on-one tutoring session with the Potions Master, Arthur was not in a good mood. He was just grateful that he wasn't forced to take a potions class with the fifth year students. Despite being the Slytherin Head of House, the Potions Master was remarkably kind and patient. But even she had suggested that Arthur's study of potions would probably be best accomplished on a "theoretical level." He knew she meant that he should stay away from any actual potion brewing.

As he ducked out of the dungeon classroom, Arthur slammed into another student. He apologized, as any gentleman would, but bit back any further apology when he realized that the other student was Alfred. Bloody Slytherins, always cluttering up his hallways.

Alfred stepped in front of him, blocking Arthur's path down the corridor. Arthur surreptitiously reached for his wand, ready to defend himself from the other boy's tricks. He could see Alfred placing his wand back into his robe pocket, making Arthur suspect that Alfred had just cast a spell or was going to cast one soon.

Instead of reaching for his wand again, the Slytherin grinned and asked a question. "Hey, Arthur! I was wondering... how is your flying bunny both mint green _and_ invisible?"

Arthur scoffed at Alfred's ignorance. "He's green to those with the skill to see him."

The Gryffindor brushed past Alfred and continued walking down the corridor. Although it was a bit early for supper, he was hungry enough to go straight to the dining hall without dropping off his book bag in his room.

"So if he's green does that make him a Slytherin fan?" Alfred called as he followed behind.

"Don't be absurd, flying mint bunny is entirely the wrong shade of green," Arthur replied as he ducked down one of the nearly secret staircases that provided a shortcut between classrooms. He was feeling stressed from his continued failure in potions class and didn't want to deal with an annoying American's questions.

Arthur sped up as the dining hall came into sight. He heard the usual cacophony of student voices, but there was a surprising undercurrent of irritation and complaints. As he entered the dining hall, Arthur was greeted with a shocking sight. The Gryffindor table was completely empty, while Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were filled to the brim. The reason? Someone had replaced the usual food at the Gryffindor table with Arthur's cooking.

"Dude, what's that crap they're serving you guys?" Alfred asked, his voice filled with disgust as he stared at the collection of burnt inedibles. He walked over and picked up one of Arthur's scones. He took a bite from the blackened mass and started gagging. "Ew, this is nasty," he complained, setting the remainder of the scone back on the table.

Arthur glared at the other student. Although Alfred was very good at feigning ignorance, it was obvious that he and the Slytherin trio had pulled this prank. Francis and company had always loved teasing Arthur's cooking. His food was perfectly delicious, so they must have poisoned it somehow to discourage the other Gryffindor students from sitting at their normal table. It was the only possible explanation.

To rub salt in the wound, Alfred grinned and offered Arthur a seat at the Slytherin table.

What Arthur wanted to say was 'No, thank you. My cooking is perfectly delicious so I will be eating at the Gryffindor table. As usual.'

What escaped from his lips was something else entirely.

"I think I'd rather eat you."

"What?" Alfred scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

Arthur thought fast. He opened his mouth to claim that he wanted to eat _stew_ , but the words wouldn't come out because they weren't true. He let loose an ungentlemanly swear and decided that he wasn't hungry after all.

Once safely ensconced in his room, Arthur repeatedly knocked his head against the wall. He didn't believe in love at first sight. It was sappy and stupid. But he couldn't stop thinking about Alfred, even though the boy was immature and had bad taste in friends and even worse taste in Houses. It didn't help that the American kept pestering him at every available opportunity. Maybe if Arthur just kept his distance his... infatuation... would just go away on its own.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_My first week at Hogwarts was amazing! I got in to the house I wanted and I've already made several friends. Hogwarts seems kinda cliquish (the kids in each house just hang out with their own house), but I'm sure I'll get to know more people in time. It's weird to hear all these British accents, but at least there are a few other international students around._

_My favorite class is Charms. They teach the sixth years and the seventh years together because only two dozen students are studying for the NEWTs. My labmate Madeleine is super nice. She likes to bring her magical pet bear to class, but the bear keeps eating the memory-erase charms._

_Tryouts for the Quidditch team are next week. Wish me luck!_

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

* * *

Sixth years had a lot of free time, but they were supposed to spend most of it studying. Normally, Alfred would have blown off studying for at least the first few weeks and just spent it hanging out with his new friends while exploring Hogwarts. And he did exactly that with Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis, who proceeded to show him every secret passageway in Hogwarts. The best one wasn't even a secret passage, just a clever way to escape curfew: to leave the Slytherin dormitory, all they had to do was open the window and summon their broomstick. It worked like a charm.

Alfred spent the rest of his spare time with Madeleine. She actually liked studying so they met in a quiet corner of the library to work on charms. Their preferred spot was normally empty, but at the end of the week they discovered Kiku at the table. Madeleine moved as if to find a new table, but Alfred grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. He liked Kiku, and he also realized that wherever Kiku studied, there was a good chance Arthur might join.

"Mind if we join you, Kiku?" Alfred asked.

The quiet Ravenclaw student shook his head in response, inviting them to join him at the table with a smooth hand gesture.

"Thanks!" Alfred chirped as he dropped his books onto the table. Kiku winced at the noise and resumed studying. Alfred had barely spent a few minutes on his potions essay when he noticed a new figure approaching the table.

It was Arthur, who glared at Alfred and Madeleine. His glare deepened when Alfred smiled back. Arthur interpreted the smile to hide some terrible machinations, like another effort to steal his potions book. He gripped the book tighter to his chest.

Madeleine glanced up from the table. "You're welcome to join us," she offered politely.

"Thank you, I prefer to study alone," he coolly replied, before turning on his heels.

Alfred might have imagined it, but he thought he caught sight of Kiku rolling his eyes.

The Slytherin boy didn't understand why Arthur had become such a big jerk, but it was starting to get on his nerves. Alfred usually ignored the everyday slings and arrows of teenage life, but he was sick of being ignored. If Arthur thought he was better than everyone else just because he was a Prefect and he was in Gryffindor, then Alfred was going to prove that he was wrong.

* * *

Quidditch tryouts occurred in alphabetical order, with one day per House. Since Slytherin went last, Alfred had plenty of time to study the strengths and weaknesses of the other teams, particularly Gryffindor's.

Alfred scribbled furiously as he watched Arthur compete during the tryouts. Arthur was good. He was very good. His broom flashed past, but even at high speeds Arthur could pull off a sharp turn and maneuver quickly. At the same time, Alfred could also see Arthur's weaknesses. He was cocky and he hadn't been challenged on the field in a long time. The beginnings of a plan started to form in Alfred's mind...

"So you take notes for Quidditch, but not for your classes?" Madeleine asked with a soft smile.

"Of course, _this_ is important," Alfred replied without taking his eyes from the field. Watching the tryouts for the other teams would give him a competitive advantage and help him become the school's best Quidditch player.

They sat together in a nearly empty section of the stands. It was too far away to hear what the Gryffindor players were saying, but still gave Alfred an excellent view of the entire field. Madeleine had encouraged Alfred to dress in Hufflepuff colors so that they wouldn't attract unwanted attention (it was hard to hate a House when you forgot it existed half the time), but he had refused. They were the only non-Gryffindors in attendance, drawing a number of unfriendly glances.

As the youngest Gryffindor seeking to join the team, Peter Kirkland was the last to tryout. He started yelling at his cousin Arthur when they told him to try again next year.

Madeleine and Alfred passed by the screaming match between Peter and Arthur as they cut across the field, taking the shortest path back to the castle's courtyard.

"You don't want me to be on the team because I'm better than you are!" Peter shouted.

"You're just a spoiled brat," Arthur retorted.

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Dee two!" Alfred immediately interjected. As everyone stared at him with various levels of confusion (Peter, Madeleine) and annoyance (Arthur), Alfred explained, "R2-D2, you know? From the Star Wars movies?" Even after that explanation, everyone continued to stare. Alfred felt like he had entered a parallel universe. An _evil_ parallel universe. "You've never seen Star Wars?" he shouted. "Oh man, we need to do a movie marathon. Does this place have a TV lounge somewhere?"

"You're at the world's premier board school for young witches and wizards and you want to watch movies?" Arthur asked with incredulity.

"Uh, yeah."

"That's even dumber than Peter thinking he should be on the Quidditch team," Arthur retorted, causing Peter to complain and reigniting their shouting match.

Madeleine tugged on Alfred's robes and they resumed walking back to the castle. Alfred was still trying to sort out how he could arrange for a movie marathon, so he didn't notice the three Gryffindor students waiting to ambush them near a curve into the path until Maddie pulled short, putting herself between Alfred and the other students.

"Hufflepuff, this has nothing to do with you," one of the other students warned, before giving Maddie to the count of three to leave.

"What?" Alfred asked, still trying to understand what the other students wanted. They looked kinda annoyed. Maybe they wanted to be invited to watch movies too?

"No," Madeleine immediately replied, reaching for her wand.

Alfred barely had a chance to dodge one curse before he felt a stinging jinx hit him in the face and knock off his glasses. Half-blinded, he grabbed Madeleine's hand and ducked into the closest building—the stable for magical creatures. The adrenaline kicked his brain into higher gear and he suddenly realized that his assailants were members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They must have thought that he was spying on them during tryouts. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to take Maddie's advice and don Hufflepuff colors.

As Alfred dug his wand out of his pockets (stupid robes for having so many stupid pockets!), Madeleine fortified the entrance. She levitated wheelbarrows to form a barricade in front of the door before pulling Alfred into an empty stall.

Alfred squinted, and over the top of the stable he spotted the students attempting to enter the back door. He cast a glisseo charm, causing the person in front to flail and fall down on the suddenly slippery ground. Madeleine lifted another into the air with a levitation charm. They both ducked as the third person shot a jinx in their direction.

"Expelliarmus!" Alfred heard a familiar voice shout. He glanced over the stall and saw Arthur standing over his three teammates as he scolded them, "I don't care who started it. If you're having problems, you need to summon a professor. You don't just cast spells at another student. I'm docking 50 points from Gryffindor."

Alfred grinned. It was strange—but very pleasant—to hear Arthur sound annoyed at someone else for once. After he sent the other students on their way, the Gryffindor Prefect glanced up at Alfred. Even though he didn't have his glasses, Alfred could guess that Arthur was scowling.

"Jones, why am I not surprised to find you in the midst of trouble?"

" _They_ attacked _us_ ," Madeleine retorted, irritation making her voice surprisingly loud.

"Again. I don't care. Call a professor to sort out trouble," Arthur replied. He stepped around the slippery patch of ground and approached the other two students. Arthur frowned as he walked close enough to see the red welts covering Alfred's face.

"I believe these are yours, Jones. I found them outside."

Arthur cast a repair spell on the spectacles and returned them to Alfred. He declined to mention the stab of worry he felt when he saw Alfred's broken spectacles on the ground. He opened his mouth to suggest that the two students visit the nurse to heal the red welts, when he noticed the unicorn foal in the stall with them. The foal nuzzled Alfred's face, instantly removing the jinx.

"Thanks," Alfred replied, completely oblivious to the unicorn as he grabbed his glasses and returned them to his face. Then he remembered that he was annoyed with Arthur. "Not that we needed help or anything."

"Well I didn't care what happened to you two, I just didn't want the magical beasts in the middle of a duel," Arthur grumbled automatically, unsure how to process the sight he had just witnessed. Unicorn foals cloaked themselves in an invisibility spell during their tender years, so he wasn't surprised the two students didn't see the foal, but he was shocked that Silver would willingly use her healing powers to help Alfred. It had taken him weeks to earn the foal's trust, whereas Alfred just walked into the stall and apparently waltzed into her good graces.

After they left, Arthur turned to face Silver. "He's just a pretty face," he muttered.

She whickered and gave him a disbelieving look. For some reason, it reminded him of Kiku.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Guess who made the Quidditch team? Me! And I'm going to be seeker too_ :-)

_Our first game is in two weeks. We've been practicing like crazy to get ready._

_English breakfasts are really strange. What's up with beans and tomatoes for breakfast? One of my friends really loves tomatoes, so I just give him mine. I really miss chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast. Maddie promises me she'll make some on the weekend to celebrate making the team!_

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

* * *

Alfred felt like his face would burst from smiling as he took the field in his green and silver robes. He was playing Quidditch at Hogwarts. He waved at the hostile crowd, determined that he was going to win his first game. Victory was so close he could almost taste it.

The weather had decided to cooperate, giving them a mostly sunny sky and relatively warm temperatures, at least by the standards of September in Britain.

Students wearing red and gold filled the stands. As usual, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students cheered for Gryffindor when their own teams weren't playing. A small number of Slytherin students attended the game, a few specks of green in the sea of red.

"G'day, folks! I'm Jack Logan, your Quidditch announcer, here to give you the second-by-second report on this match! Folks, this is great start to the season. Gryffindor, the reigning Quidditch champions will be facing their arch-rivals, Slytherin."

The audience booed the Slytherin players as they took the field.

Jack waited for the angry shouts to subside and then continued his announcement. "Today promises to be particularly interesting because the Slytherins are fielding a new seeker. Alfred Jones, a sixth-year who recently transferred from America. And of course, we have the returning seventh-year Slytherin chasers, Antonio Carriedo, Francis Bonnefoy, and Gilbert Awe—Gilbert, your last name is not 'Awesome.' Stop changing the official materials!"

"Kesesese."

The announcer finished listing the Slytherin players. The audience finally began to clap as he started to introduce the Gryffindor players. They cheered wildly when he finished the list with "And here comes Arthur Kirkland, Gryffindor's seeker and Prefect!"

"Hey, Kirkland!" Alfred shouted at the other team's seeker. "Are you ready for a crushing defeat?"

"Not bloody likely," Arthur replied, before taking off.

Both teams took their positions hovering on broomsticks above the field and the referees signaled the start of the game.

"Jones is off like a shot! Has he spotted the snitch already? This could be a very short game, folks! Kirkland is following closely as Jones leads a merry chase. Ooh, that was a very impressive reverse spin by Jones! But so far no snitch. Looks like this was a false alarm."

"You did that on purpose," Arthur accused.

Alfred grinned, but didn't reply. His plan was working perfectly.

The game continued as the Slytherin chasers shot goal after goal towards the hoops. The Gryffindor keeper blocked most, but a few got through, earning a quick lead for the Slytherins.

Alfred dodged a bludger and then shot upward, pretending that he'd seen the snitch again.

The announcer quickly relayed the information to the crowd. "And we've got another high speed chase with the seekers both going after the snitch. I gotta admit, folks, I don't see it yet, but Jones looks pretty intent. No, wait, they've stopped now. Jones is going to be completely worn out by the end of the game if he keeps chasing after false alarms."

The Gryffindor chasers took back the quaffle and managed to score a few shots of their own, bringing the game to a tied score.

Both seekers hovered in the middle of the field, high above the action below, waiting for a glimpse of the elusive golden snitch.

"Oh look, there it is!" Alfred cried with his best fake voice. He shot off toward the left side of the field. This time Arthur didn't follow… until he saw the snitch just in front of Alfred. By the time he caught up, Alfred had already grabbed the snitch and won the game, ending the match in just under an hour.

"You little cheat!" Arthur said with a scowl as the two teams pretended to be civilized by shaking each other's hands at the end of the match.

Alfred grinned and shrugged. "What? I gave you fair warning when I spotted it!"

Arthur glared and stalked away.

"Muy bueno, mi amigo!" Antonio cried happily as the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team came over to congratulate Alfred. They cheered amongst themselves as most of the audience booed. Alfred spotted Arthur scowling at him from across the field and he smirked. If Hogwarts wanted an interhouse rivalry, he would give them one. Oh yeah, it was on like donkey kong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcannon that American witches and wizards are more integrated into popular culture—hence Alfred's knowledge of movies and video games. We'll be getting into Arthur's background eventually, but it's a bit of a hint that he knows what movies and television are.


	3. Potions and Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Arthur's rivalry intensifies.

As part of Operation Bring it On, Alfred began trading taunts with Arthur each time they met in the castle corridors. Arthur, with a perfectly arched eyebrow and a small smirk, would say something like:

"You know, Jones, I think you're at the wrong school. You might want to consider transferring to Warthog's School for Wazzocks."

And Alfred would retort:

"Yeah, but if I leave, who's going to beat your ass at Quidditch, Kirkland?"

Given the size of Hogwarts and their very different class schedules, it was a bit strange how often they walked past each other in the hallway, but Alfred had memorized Arthur's schedule by the third week and made sure that he had at least three run-ins with the Gryffindor Prefect per week. Trading insults with Arthur was the highlight of his day.

In addition to strategizing smack-downs, the American found himself spending more time practicing Quidditch and studying for class than ever before. Back home, he would have been distracted by friends and video games and movies. But here at Hogwarts... he had trouble making friends outside of Slytherin and Madeleine. Well, at least his parents would be pleased by the improvement in his grades.

His main source of fun was pranks and pancakes. The Slytherin trio provided the pranks and Madeleine supplied the pancakes. Hogwarts thankfully no longer used House Elves to cook meals, so there was no one to stop Madeleine and Alfred from slipping into the empty kitchen to make pancakes at midnight. Fortunately, they both thought that _any_ time of day was a good time for delicious pancakes.

* * *

Arthur (along with most Hogwarts students) skipped the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff game that always followed the Gryffindor/Slytherin match. It was necessary to arrange the games so that each House played an equal number of matches against different opponents, but some matches were more popular than others, particularly the Serpent vs. Lion game that traditionally started the Quidditch season.

Since the permanent end of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts had added extra Quidditch games, extending the calendar from early October to late March. Arthur suspected that the main reason for adding more games and changing the schedule was to increase the number of Gryffindor/Slytherin matches. Not that he had any complaints, mind you, nothing was quite as thrilling as defeating his Slytherin archrivals.

Despite the lack of rivalry between the two houses, the Slytherin/Hufflepuff match was surprisingly well attended. Arthur wore clothing that emphasized the gold portion of his house colors so that he could blend in. He grabbed a seat near some Hufflepuffs and stealthily took out a small notebook. He fully intended to watch the Slytherin seeker during the course of the game and learn his weaknesses. Arthur had a reputation to uphold and he was not going to be one-upped by a bloody sixth-year student.

After jotting a few notes, Arthur noticed the sound of giggling directly behind him. He snuck a quick glance and saw that a nearby Hufflepuff girl was watching him with a grin. He turned back to his notes, uncertain why she looked familiar. Then he remembered that she was the Hufflepuff that he always saw hanging out with Alfred (not that he paid attention to the Slytherin's friends or anything stalkerish like that).

"What's so amusing?" Arthur turned around and asked, hiding the notebook from view as he desperately tried to remember her name. It was rather ungentlemanly to forget.

"You don't need to put away the notebook," she said softly as the announcer began to name all of the team members as they took the field. "It's just funny, because Alfred was doing the same thing the other day."

"Don't compare me to him."

"I think you're more alike than you know."

Arthur scoffed and resumed watching the game, his attention focused entirely on the Slytherin seeker. From an objective point of view, he had to admit that Alfred had a talent for flying. Despite being taller and larger than Arthur, he was fast and agile. But Arthur could also see certain weaknesses—Alfred paid more attention to the right side of the field than the left and he watched the rival seeker too often. He completely failed to look at the audience, even though their glances could sometimes be a useful clue for finding the golden snitch.

Arthur jotted down his notes, although he took care to hide his scribblings from the Hufflepuff student so she wouldn't be able to share the information with Alfred. As the game wore on, the Gryffindor student found himself somewhat tempted to sketch a drawing of Alfred. He really had very nice flying form. His legs gripped the broom tightly, allowing him to let go and snatch the snitch at a moment's notice. His golden hair (a perfect match for the golden snitch) waved slightly in the breeze, with one lock constantly defying gravity. Arthur couldn't see his blue eyes at this distance, but he imagined that they were sparkling behind Alfred's spectacles. Recognizing that he was approximately five seconds away from sighing dreamily and cupping his face in his hands, Arthur promptly shut down _that_ line of thinking and focused on Alfred's weaknesses instead of his handsome body. Stupid sexy Slytherin.

About two hours into the game, without a single appearance by the golden snitch, Arthur realized that it was going to be a very long game. Games past four hours at Hogwarts were rare, but not unheard of. He had a personal record of never letting a game go more than three hours, but the times could vary widely depending on the seekers and the snitch.

Alfred always acted like a hyperactive toddler, but on the field he showed that he had stamina as well as endless energy. When his constant search for the golden snitch brought Alfred close to the section of the stands where Arthur and Madeleine were sitting, Arthur could almost swear that Alfred actually winked at him. Then logic took over and he realized that if Alfred was winking at anyone, it definitely would have been the Hufflepuff, not his Quidditch rival.

At the three hour mark, the teams took a short break and Arthur wished he had brought a snack and a thermos filled with tea. He loved Quidditch, but it was far more interesting out on the field than watching from the stands. As he waited for the game to restart, Arthur decided to politely chat with the Hufflepuff. Perhaps she would let slip some helpful information about Alfred.

"This must be rather difficult for you, watching Slytherin compete against Hufflepuff. Do you root for your house or your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," she reminded Arthur, then added, "And I'm not really interested in who wins or loses, eh. It's not like it's hockey."

Arthur was too much of a gentleman to voice his disbelief ('Never call a lady a liar!' his aunt had always said), but be didn't think she would sit on the stands for three hours unless she enjoyed watching Alfred fly. (Some small portion of his mind acknowledged that this may have said something about his own willingness to continue watching Alfred play.)

Madeleine grinned. "Besides, what makes you think I'm here to watch Alfred?"

Almost as soon as the game resumed, Alfred swooped down and caught the snitch. He waved at the audience, and this time Arthur was _positive_ that the American seeker was staring directly at him. If Alfred wanted a challenge, Arthur was happy to oblige.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Guess who won his second Quidditch match? We had an awesome party to celebrate. But don't worry—there wasn't any alcohol. Hogwarts is pretty strict about that stuff, other than the Butterbeer at Hogsmeade._

_I do miss soda. They serve lots of juice and tea (because, duh, it's England) in the dining hall, but nothing carbonated. I'm going to drink Coke nonstop when you come to visit for xmas._

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

* * *

Alfred handed the envelope to his eagle in the Owlery and cheerfully climbed down the steps. He passed Gilbert on the stairs and waved. Given how much beer Gilbert had drunk at the Slytherin victory party (Alfred was old enough to know when it was a good idea to lie to one's parents), he was a bit surprised to see Gilbert moving around so early in the morning.

For some reason, Gilbert and Francis both kept golden chicks instead of owls, so Alfred assumed that Gilbert was heading up to spend time with Gilbird and Pierre. Knowing Gilbert, he probably also had a prank in mind (pranks were the only things that got him out of bed before noon). Some days he liked to distribute howlers to random students because it was highly amusing to watch their shocked faces when they received the messages during breakfast.

Francis and Antonio were still eating when Alfred arrived. Alfred slid into his seat, pushed the tomatoes from his plate onto Antonio's, and gladly accepted another helping of hashbrowns from Francis. Alfred's seat gave him an excellent view of Arthur on the other side of the room (which was a coincidence, of course, and not the primary reason Alfred had selected the seat).

He watched as Arthur sighed and carefully opened a red envelope. The paper rearranged itself into an angry red mouth and began to screech at Arthur for neglecting his cousin and denying 'poor Peter' a spot on the Quidditch team. Alfred felt bad for the Gryffindor boy as everyone in the room listened to the angry tirade.

"That isn't one of Gilbert's, is it?" Alfred asked his companions.

Francis shook his head. "No, I'm afraid Arthur's aunt comes up with that stuff on her own."

A student in Ravenclaw received a howler claiming that his "vital regions" would be conquered by a pack of angry Kneazles unless he delivered a crate of Weißbier to Slytherin House.

Antonio smiled. "Now, that's Gilbert!"

After his late breakfast, Alfred grabbed his book bag and eagerly trotted to the library. He and Madeleine planned to study before lunch, then he would join the Slytherin team for afternoon practice. Normally, Alfred wouldn't be excited to study on a Saturday morning, but he had discovered that Arthur and Kiku liked to study in the library on weekend mornings, so despite his love of sleeping in, he decided to 'conveniently' arrive at the same time.

The American boy took his seat and eagerly pulled out his parchment and quill so he would appear to be industriously working when Arthur arrived. He slowly wrote his astronomy paper, glancing up every few minutes when he heard the sound of a person approach.

The third time he lifted his head he was rewarded with the sight of Arthur and Kiku approaching. He smiled at both and waved. Kiku nodded at Alfred and silently took a seat. Arthur hesitated, then took the seat across from Alfred with a calculating expression.

"Where's your girlfriend, Jones?" he asked crisply as he pulled out his much-maligned Potions book. "You didn't have a fight, did you?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," Madeleine said with a quiet chuckle as she silently appeared behind Arthur, who nearly yelped in surprise. She sat down and after a moment's thought added, "Not that there's anything wrong with dating a Slytherin boy." She smiled at him sweetly. "After all, didn't you date Francis two years back?"

Arthur glared. "Yes, I did. So I speak from experience when I say they're a nest of vipers."

"Wait... you dated Francis?" Alfred asked, leaning forward in interest.

"Do you mind? I need to finish my potions homework before practice," Arthur replied, cutting off further discussion.

For once, Alfred managed to sense that he should probably stop talking. He had suspected the Gryffindor boy played for the Queerditch team, but he was still irrationally happy to have confirmation. At a boarding school with only 200-some students, the odds of finding another gay guy of the same age weren't terribly high. He wondered if he could find a way to casually work his own homosexuality into the conversation later.

He scratched out a reasonable astronomy essay even though he didn't believe a word of it. Alfred had signed up for astronomy thinking it was the study of stars. Turns out he had confused _astronomy_ with _astrology_. At least they were learning the history of the names for the different constellations, even if the professor believed in the accuracy of the zodiac. Alfred thought it was ridiculous to assume that everyone in the world shared one of twelve different personalities. It was nearly as silly as trying to sort teenagers into four houses.

After he finished his essay, Alfred surreptitiously read Arthur's potions essay, finding it hard to make his way through the upside down cursive. Apparently the fifth year Potions class was working on the Draught of Peace. The potion helped relieve feelings of anxiety, but it was tremendously difficult to make, meaning that the people who couldn't make it were usually the ones who needed it most. He watched as Arthur copied over a description of the potion-making process from a library book.

Arthur caught him staring. The Gryffindor frowned and moved his books to block Alfred's view. Alfred stood up and walked around to read the essay over Arthur's shoulder.

"Do you Americans care nothing for personal space?" Arthur griped.

"It turns orange before it turns white and it only turns blue once," Alfred replied, pointing out the inaccurate portions of the essay with his quill. He frowned as he stared at the essay and the book sitting nearby. "Aren't you supposed to write the essay _after_ you make the potion?"

"Do you think I didn't try? First the potion turned to cement and then it shot out green sparks. Trust me, it's easiest if I rely on the textbook instead of setting the dungeon on fire."

Kiku arched his eyebrow.

"Again," Arthur added under his breath.

Alfred grinned. "Well that's easy enough to fix. I'll show you how to make it." He grabbed Arthur's potions book and set a quick pace through the library shelves and then the hallway corridors until he reached the potions classroom in the dungeon, secure in the knowledge that Arthur would follow if only to reclaim his textbook.

He grabbed the four ingredients off the shelf and set them on the table as Arthur strode into the classroom. They stared at each other from across the room. Alfred could feel his heart beating faster and he didn't think it was from his walk to the dungeon. He had liked Arthur from the moment they met, but he was starting to realize that he _like_ -liked Arthur. It suddenly became imperative that he find a way back into Arthur's good graces.

"For the record, if we blow up the dungeon, it's on your head," the object of his affections muttered, glaring at the ingredients like they had personally offended him.

"Sure," Alfred absent-mindedly agreed, still a little dazed by the realization that he had fallen bad for a short English boy with an even shorter temper. Judy Blume had never prepared him for this.

"Well? Stop dawdling and show me how this is done."

With supreme effort of will, Alfred refocused on the matter at hand. Following Alfred's instructions, Arthur mixed in the ingredients, carefully stirring the potion through a kaleidoscope of colors, until he reached the third-to-last stage: a gray and shimmery draught. They both held their breaths as the potion simmered, slowing darkening and reddening into a bright orange. At just the right moment, Alfred added the final ingredient, causing the entire potion to glow white.

When the potion failed to explode, Arthur released a sigh of relief. He offered Alfred a tentative smile before jotting down his observations in his notes. He leaned over the desk and scribbled furiously while the thoughts were still fresh in his head.

Alfred used the stirring spoon to try a bit of the potion.

"Are you insane?" Arthur shouted, grabbing the spoon out of Alfred's hands.

"No. I'm just testing to make sure it worked," Alfred calmly replied. "Good news, it did."

Arthur scowled and whacked Alfred with the spoon. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. This potion can send you into a deep sleep if it's not made properly."

"Aw, Kirkland, if you're feeling anxious, we've got the cure right here." Alfred smiled and offered the spoon.

"I'd prefer rum, but I suppose this will have to do," Arthur replied, taking a sip for himself. His posture subtly relaxed as he drank the potion. Even his frown loosened into an expression that almost approached a smile.

"Want to try making another one? What are you supposed to work on next week?" Alfred asked, eager to find an excuse to extend his time with Arthur. It was like they were back on the Hogwarts Express, simply enjoying each other's company.

Arthur replied with a faint blush and a single word: "Amortentia."

Alfred grinned and nodded happily. "Ooh, another tricky one. I think Professor Chatterton keeps the main ingredients locked up to make sure no one brews love potions when she isn't looking. But I can show you most of the steps."

He proceeded to do just that, enjoying every second that they stood together, adding ingredients to the simmering pot and acting like people who actually liked each other, as opposed to two students on different Quidditch teams caught in a vicious interhouse rivalry. It felt a little like Romeo and Juliet, except that Alfred wasn't going to make a Draught of Living Death to create the appearance of death or an Elixir of Life as the cure. He had enjoyed that play a lot more once he realized it was about potions.

Alfred explained how the only antidote to a love potion was a hate potion. It was brewed using the same ingredients, but in reverse order. The final ingredient was a piece of hair from the object of disaffection.

Sitting together at one of the potions tables, they chatted about potions and Shakespeare and completely lost track of time. Arthur explained that he saw Macbeth as a morality play warning against the dangers of relying on divination, though there was no truth to the claim that Shakespeare used real spells in the text.

"I've never been very good at divination," Alfred admitted.

"Oh? It's one of my better subjects."

"Really? Prove it," Alfred said, softening his words with a smile as he offered his palm. He grinned happily as Arthur accepted the challenge and took hold of his hand. It felt nice to have the Gryffindor student smoothly caress his palm.

Arthur carefully examined the three major lines—the love line, the head line, and the life line. Reading the lines, he could see a long and happy love life. The head line showed creativity, along with a taste of adventure and great enthusiasm for life. Most intriguingly, the life line showed that Alfred would soon face a momentous decision.

Of course, Arthur wasn't going to tell Alfred a word of that. He glibly provided a more negative fortune to lower Alfred's spirits before the next Quidditch game. Arthur pointed to different lines on the hand and 'explained' their meaning:

"Your love line is filled with a slew of temporary and meaningless relationships, probably because you have a selfish and materialistic outlook when it comes to love. Your attention span is short and you don't enjoy deep thinking. You prefer working toward physical achievements rather than mental ones. And it looks like you're going to have a nervous breakdown soon."

Alfred grinned. "Sorry, what'd you say? I wasn't paying attention. Seriously, Arthur, even I can tell that you were bullshitting that, and I suck at divination. Give me a proper reading."

Considering that Alfred had just helped him with a potion and could be rather nice when he chose, Arthur relented. He summoned a pair of tea cups and some of his favorite tea.

"Boil some water," he instructed Alfred. "Tessomancy has always been my strongest divination skill."

Once the tea was prepared, Alfred stared at the cup with a skeptical look. He took a sip and wished that Arthur had summoned some sugar. Plain tea was nasty and bitter. With an expression of great suffering, Alfred managed to down the entire drink. He hoped that he had an amazing fortune to make up for it.

They finished at the same time (Arthur because he was savoring the cup, Alfred because he couldn't manage to drink the entire thing in one gulp) and exchanged cups.

Arthur glanced at the grounds at the bottom of the tea cup. He planned to fake a prophecy by rolling his eyes into the back of his head, spouting some grim-sounding nonsense in a dark voice, and then pretending that he didn't remember what had happened afterward (the mark of a true prophecy). He'd used the trick before on the gullible and the results were always hilarious.

That was what he intended, but as soon Arthur rolled his eyes back into his head, swayed dramatically, and prepared to deliver his 'prophecy,' Alfred wrecked the plan.

"Artie!" the other boy shouted frantically, gripping Arthur by the shoulders. Arthur didn't have time to react before Alfred scooped him up into his arms and raced to the classroom exit. He thought he heard the sound of a tea cup breaking as it hit the floor.

Two thoughts shot through Arthur's head. First, he realized that Alfred had very muscular arms and a firm chest. Second, he knew he would die of mortification if anyone saw them like this.

"Put me down! Put me down!" Arthur shouted just as they reached the final row of desks.

"Arthur! Are you okay?" Alfred asked frantically, his blue eyes searching Arthur's face for any sign of magical illness or distress. The level of palpable concern was almost endearing.

"Of course I'm fine, you twit. Haven't you seen anyone deliver a prophecy before?" Arthur sighed. "You've completely ruined it. Now we're never going to know what your tea leaves said."

Alfred bit his lip—something he often did when he was worried or thinking hard, not that Arthur paid attention to those sorts of things. He shook his head and said, "I still think you should go to the nurse. You look pretty red."

Arthur frowned and hoped that Alfred mistook his red face for anger instead of embarrassment. He didn't want Alfred to start teasing him based on his misguided crush. Then he realized that Alfred was still holding him. Arthur was short, but he wasn't _that_ short, and Alfred was just carrying him around like it was nothing.

"You can set me down," he reminded the Slytherin boy.

Alfred flushed and complied—with their tomato-red faces, the two of them could have set Antonio into paroxysms of joy. They were standing close, too close, and Arthur was acutely aware that he could easily lean forward on his toes and press his lips against Alfred's. The whisper of air as Alfred began to close the distance between them brought Arthur back to his senses. He jerked backwards, stumbling heavily against a table.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Alfred asked.

"Perhaps I will go see the nurse," Arthur murmured, before slipping out of the room.

Alfred watched as Arthur disappeared down the corridor. He cleaned up the broken tea cup with a quick spell, before glancing back to see Arthur's cup still sitting on the table. Alfred glanced at the tea dregs, but they just looked like a Rorschach test. He could see... a squiggly line and a cat.

He pondered the portents for a few minutes, before deciding that they probably didn't mean anything.

* * *

The next time Alfred passed Arthur in the hallway he considered a friendly greeting instead of an insult, but the Brit beat him to the punch:

"It's amazing your broom can even hold an ego as large as yours," Arthur said with a smirk.

"Well it didn't have any trouble carrying me and your mom last night," Alfred replied.

From the sudden silence in the corridor, he could tell that he had said something horribly wrong. What was wrong with Brits? Didn't everyone love a good 'your momma' joke? Alfred watched, perplexed, as Arthur silently stalked away.

Sometime later, Francis explained that Arthur was an orphan.

Alfred spent the rest of the day slowly beating his head against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when you make a 'your momma' joke to an orphan. Ooops.
> 
> "Wazzock" is old-fashioned UK slang for a stupid or annoying person. Unfortunately for Alfred, I believe he may be outclassed in the insult department. (Sometimes I write Arthur as a tetchy character just so I can enjoy him insulting everyone.)


	4. Fighting Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Arthur's relationship hits its low point.

Arthur watched the delicate heart-shaped swirls drift upward from the cauldron. He had actually made the love potion Amortentia properly and with only a smidgeon of help from Alfred. It was some sort of miracle. As the stood together watching the potion bubble merrily, Alfred grinned and leaned forward, taking in a good whiff.

"The scents are different for each person, based on what you love best," he explained. He sighed in appreciation. "Oh man, this batch smells _awesome_."

"What do you smell?" Arthur asked curiously. He wondered what the American liked best. Surely it would be something like hamburgers and pancakes. The Slytherin boy's appetite was legendary, even among those who lived in different Houses.

Alfred closed his eyes as he practically dunked his nose in the potion. "I smell rum and mint and..." he paused as he tried to identify the final one. "Roses."

Arthur's heart lurched as he recognized the tie between himself and the three scents. He loved rum and mint tea (although not together) and roses were his favorite flowers. But did Alfred know that? Could the potion provide scents even if Alfred didn't understand the connection himself?

Oblivious to Arthur's inner turmoil, Alfred turned to face the Gryffindor student. He grinned and asked, "How 'bout you?"

Arthur leaned over the cauldron and breathed deeply. It was hard to find the words to describe it, but the potion smelled like sunshine and the sky itself. He couldn't really identify the final scent. It was a bit musky, but pleasant and familiar. The scent grew undeniably stronger as Alfred stepped closer and the Gryffindor realized that he could smell the scent coming from two sources—the potion and Alfred himself.

Arthur's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but the words ended in a mumble as the American's lips pressed against his own. They started hesitantly, touching nowhere but their lips. Sweet and slow was lovely for some, but Arthur had been waiting months for this chance. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, pulling the other boy closer and giving him permission to place his own hands on Arthur's waist.

They banged up against a table, barely noticing because they were too focused on using their tongues to explore each other's mouths. Alfred lifted the smaller boy onto the table, neither of them breaking the kiss. Arthur's eyes fluttered open as he felt a warm hand slip under his shirt.

"Too much?" Alfred asked sheepishly, moving to withdraw his hand.

"Not enough," Arthur replied, threading his fingers through Alfred's hair as he closed the distance between their lips. He wrapped his legs around Alfred, pulling the other boy forward until there was no space between them. He wanted the warmth and the friction.

Arthur moved his lips to Alfred's neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Alfred moaned happily, then returned the favor. They covered each other in kisses and hickeys and Arthur swore he was about one minute away from just ripping off the American's clothes.

Feeling bold, Arthur slipped his hand below Alfred's belt. "Are you happy to see me... or is that just your wand?" he asked.

"Arthur!" a voice called from a distance. The Gryffindor jerked back, afraid that they would be discovered. He opened his eyes to discover that he was still in his bed, although the angle of sunlight through the window told him that it was already late in the morning.

"Hey, Arthur! You're going to miss breakfast," his roommate called from the door. Arthur grumbled and replied that he would be down in a few, internally cursing the boy's attempt to be helpful. Why couldn't he have waited another 5 minutes? He waited for his roommate to leave, keeping his blanket strategically wrapped around his body.

His dream might have been fake, but his hard-on was very real.

* * *

While Arthur was in the Prefect's bathroom, fantasizing about the perfect ending to his dream, the real Alfred was hanging out in the Slytherin lounge, avoiding his homework by chatting with the students who passed through the lounge. Alfred liked being socialable and had even brought down part of the care package sent by his parents so the other students could get a delicious taste of the United States. No one made neon cupcakes like America!

As Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio entered, Alfred soon noticed something off about the trio. Antonio was _frowning_. Alfred didn't realize that Toni was even capable of expressions other than a cheerful smile.

"What's up, Toni?" he asked.

"La vida no tiene sentido," Antonio said with a flat expression and dull eyes.

"We're trying out a new jinx!" Gilbert explained.

"It's called Opprimendi Desperatio. The advantage of creating our own is that no one knows the counterspell," Francis added.

"So... you made a spell to turn people into zombies?" Alfred asked, watching Antonio carefully in case he suddenly demonstrated an appetite for brains. Alfred had spent many hours on the computer preparing for the zombie apocalypse, and he was ready to fight back.

Gilbert laughed. "Kesesese, that's an awesome idea!"

"Not zombies. This spell amplifies feelings of sadness and despair until they're overpowering," Francis explained. "Toni is actually relatively immune. Most people burst into tears and can't stop crying for hours."

"We'll give him a few tomatoes and he'll be back to his awesome self."

Alfred nodded and watched them walk up the seventh year boy's room. He made a mental note to never practice spells with the prankster trio. He also decided to play a few more zombie games, because you always had to be prepared.

* * *

The day of the second Slytherin/Gryffindor match dawned cloudy and gray. It got worse from there. A light drizzle in the morning picked up to full-blown rain by the time of the match, but it didn't dampen the mood of the crowd. Despite the poor weather, the stands were full of cheering spectators.

Arthur smiled to himself, recognizing his immediate advantage on a rainy game day. Alfred needed prescription eyewear, which would easily speckle in the rain, making it much harder for him to spot the snitch. The Gryffindor seeker turned to face his Slytherin rival as both teams took the field and frowned to realize that Alfred wasn't wearing spectacles at all. It seemed the boy had enough foresight to choose contacts instead.

Alfred kicked some mud off his shoes and grimaced. "Jesus, why is this field so full of—"

Arthur felt the next word hit him like a cold splash of water.

"—mudbloods."

He shook his head, trying to believe that he had misheard. Alfred was just commenting on the mud, right? Arthur glanced from side to side and saw his teammates clench their fists and narrow their eyes. They had heard it too.

"Because this is England," Francis replied dismissively.

Arthur fumed. He knew that "the Continent" placed far more emphasis on a wizard or witch's pedigree, but he didn't understand why Francis was rubbing it in his face. Arthur's parentage did make him worth less than anyone else.

The American took that moment to catch Arthur's eye and grin. "Hey, Kirkland, are you gonna give me a challenge this time or are you just gonna muck about?" he asked jokingly.

"Fuck off, you stupid wanker," Arthur spat back as he flashed the two-fingered salute.

Even his teammates were taken aback by the venom in his voice.

"Geez, someone's got their broom stuck in the mud," Alfred replied.

* * *

A bludger knocked into Alfred's broom, causing him to spin in the air before he righted himself. He grimaced, glad that the bludger hadn't hit _him_ this time. He already had several bruises on his arms and legs from earlier in the game, not to mention one very close call that would have resulted in a broken nose if he hadn't dodged fast enough.

For some reason, the Gryffindor beaters had decided to focus all of their bludger attacks on Alfred. One of the Slytherin beaters had been knocked unconscious while trying to defend Alfred and they didn't have a replacement, so Alfred and the remaining Slytherin beater were outnumbered, unable to prevent the unending barrage.

Free from worrying about the bludger balls, the Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio were taking the opportunity to rack up a high score, leading Gryffindor by over 100 points. Alfred tried to take some comfort from their high score, but he mostly felt cold and wet and bruised. He hated the rain. It was impossible to spot the snitch unless it was right in front of his face. As far as he was concerned, Quidditch games were meant for warm and sunny days.

Alfred felt more relief than disappointment when Arthur caught the snitch. At least the game was _over_ and Gryffindor only had a narrow margin of victory. Alfred gratefully flew down to the ground and didn't even notice the final bludger sent his way after the referee blew the whistle ending the game. The ball knocked him from his broomstick, and he fell into the sand pit in the middle of the field with a thud that knocked all of the breath from his lungs. His Quidditch teammates crowded around him.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Francis asked.

"What's five times five?" Gilbert added.

"Would you like a tomato?" was Antonio's less-than-helpful contribution.

Madeleine pushed them all aside. She covered him with an umbrella as the field nurse determined that he was conscious, oriented, and didn't have any broken bones.

"I'm okay," Alfred reassured Maddie. "Just let me rest here for a few more minutes."

She nodded and handed the umbrella to Francis. "Hold this, will you?"

They all watched as she calmly walked over to the Gryffindor beater who had aimed the bludger at Alfred. She cast an invisibility spell and disappeared from viewer. The beater looked up, like someone had tapped him on the shoulder, and then suddenly landed on his ass, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Sometimes, it was rather useful to be invisible.

* * *

The Gryffindor team grumbled to themselves in the locker room, annoyed that a blood purist like Alfred had escaped the match without lasting injury.

"Would have served him right!" one of the beaters said. The other nodded, still holding a bandage against his nose to staunch the blood flow. The worst part was that no one had any idea what hit him.

Arthur felt secretly relieved that the Slytherin seeker hadn't been hurt. After the initial flash of rage passed, he realized that he was still rather infatuated with the boy and didn't want to see him hurt. Alfred was young and stupid, but he could still learn the error of his ways.

Still, it hurt to think that his crush thought of him as nothing more than a 'mudblood.' Alfred had been mostly friendly during their interactions, but Arthur was deeply familiar with the type of folks who could act nicely to some muggle-born witches and wizards. They would justify the interactions by saying that Arthur wasn't like all those other nasty muggle-borns. He was smart and a good wizard. He was an exception.

When Arthur heard his teammates plot further revenge, he spoke up.

"Listen, what he said was terrible, but you need to go to a teacher," he said, looking the other muggle-born students directly in the eye. "If they catch you attacking a Slytherin player, they'll kick you off the team, even if he is a prick," he added, appealing to their rational side.

The team grudgingly complied. They knew that Arthur took his duties as Gryffindor Prefect seriously and wouldn't hesitate to stop them, even if it resulted in a weaker Quidditch team. Arthur realized that he was only acting partially out of a respect for the rules. No matter what Alfred had said, Arthur didn't want to see him hurt.

Sometimes Alfred seemed almost normal, but it was moments like his 'mudblood' comment that reminded Arthur why the Slytherin couldn't be trusted. Alfred could smile and smile and still be a villain. Arthur just wished that his heart could set its sights on someone more suitable.

* * *

Alfred started to fidget, wishing that he could just go back to his room. The nurse and Madeleine had both been worried about the possibility of a concussion, so they insisted he lie still for at least an hour. But patience had never been one of Alfred's skills.

"What did you do to make the other team so angry?" Maddie asked softly. She perched on a stool with her magical pet bear—Kumarie—sitting in her lap.

Alfred shrugged. "I think they just wanted to make sure Kirkland caught the snitch."

Madeleine disagreed. "They looked like they were out for blood to me."

Alfred and Maddie both turned to face the door as two professors strode into the room, arguing fiercely. It was strange to see the Heads of House for both Gryffindor and Slytherin visiting the nurse's room and even stranger to listen to their argument.

"Are you saying that my students are lying?"

"Well, it is rather convenient that they're accusing one of our best Quidditch players."

"Are you really surprised that a House built on blood purity would attract bigots?"

"Of course. Go after the founder. You always do that. You shouldn't blame children for things that happened before they were born."

The two professors, remembering that they were in the nurse's room, looked at Alfred and walked directly over to his cot.

"Alfred, there's been a rather serious accusation that you called some of the students on the Gryffindor Quidditch team," the Slytherin head of house paused, embarrassed to have to say the next word, "um, mud... mudbloods."

Alfred shook his head in confusion. "What the hell is a mudblood?"

"Alfred, language!"

"Sorry. What the _heck_ is a mudblood?"

"It's a person born to muggle-parents," Madeleine piped up. "It's not a term that's really used in North America. In fact, I never heard it until I came here."

The professors both stared at her like they were seeing her for the first time. The Gryffindor head cleared his throat. "Do you mind if we could have a private chat with Alfred?" he asked sternly, making it clear that it was an order and not a request.

Madeleine bristled. "Yes, I _do_ mind. My friend is hurt and you're walking in here like he's the one who's done something wrong."

"Professor, I didn't call anyone a mudblood. I called Kirkland a stick in the mud. Maybe he misheard?"

"Yes, or perhaps they were just telling stories."

The Gryffindor head of house reacted angrily. "Surely you don't believe him?"

"Alfred is a good student. And he's in my house, so any punishment is my choice." She patted Alfred's hand. "Get better soon. I'll see you in class on Monday."

He nodded and watched the two professors leave. They continued arguing all the way out. He still didn't really understand what they thought he had done, but it seemed to have something to do with why Arthur was so mad at him. Alfred reasoned that he must have unintentionally pissed off the Gryffindor student, the same way he did by making the 'yo momma' joke.

Alfred tried to pinpoint when the anger started. He wasn't very good at readying other people's moods, but it had been pretty blatant after he complained about the amount of mud clumps on the field. "Do you think 'mud clumps' sounds like 'mudbloods'?" he asked Madeleine.

She shrugged. "Maybe. If it were something they expected to hear. You should be careful about using the m-word, you know. People... well, they have a certain way they expect Slytherins to be. And they'll cast you to fit the mold if you let them."

Alfred closed his eyes and sighed. Between the momma joke and the mud clumps comment, he had really ruined his chances with Arthur. They had one more Quidditch game before Christmas. He'd give Arthur time to cool off and then maybe try to approach the other boy during the festive season, when everyone was more cheerful. If he didn't say anything to Arthur, at least he wouldn't have to worry about saying something stupid.

Alfred didn't give up on what he wanted. He wanted to be a Quidditch star. And he wanted Arthur Kirkland. And so help him god, he was going to get both.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Thanks for the care package! Everybody loved the cupcakes, especially the ones with star sprinkles and frosting that changed colors._

_I got a few bruises in the last Quidditch game, but nothing serious. We're getting ready for the next Slytherin/Gryffindor match. Wish me luck!_

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

* * *

He should have worn blue.

Alfred pushed his way through the crowds full of red and blue and felt extremely out of place in his green-and-silver scarf. As he surveyed the patriotic colors, the perfect solution fell into place. With a quick flick of his wand—and a soft "Mutari coloribus!" under his breath—he switched his scarf to a pattern based on the stars and stripes. Now he would blend in with _both_ sides.

The Slytherin ignored the confused looks as he walked past. Madeleine wasn't interested in watching the match, so Alfred was on his own. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find a classmate. Alfred didn't do well if he didn't have someone to talk to during a game.

His eyes lit up when he spotted Kiku.

The Ravenclaw Prefect had carefully maintained a personal bubble with plenty of bench space to both his left and his right. (He accomplished this impressive feat with a small charm that gave everyone within arm's reach the overwhelming sense that they wanted to sit somewhere else.)

The charm utterly failed to work on Alfred, who was 100% confident he wanted to sit right next to Kiku. He plopped down next to the Ravenclaw student, not even noticing as Kiku shifted ever so slightly away.

Alfred pulled out his notebook and winked at Kiku. "Hey, can you do me a favor? Don't tell Kirkland about my awesome spying."

Kiku arched an eyebrow and gestured to all of the people sitting around them. He clearly didn't think it could be spying with some many people around.

Alfred disagreed. "Pfft. Of course it still counts as spying."

The Ravenclaw boy shook his head. After a few moments he pointed to the red, white, and blue scarf.

"It's okay, I'm American!" Alfred cheerfully replied, as his way of explaining the unusual color combination. He lifted it up to proudly show off his patriotic design.

They both turned their attention back to the field as the game started. Alfred felt a little annoyed during the Gryffindor/Slytherin games that he couldn't spend as much time watching Arthur as he wanted. Because he loved watching Arthur zoom around on his broomstick. Alfred's Magical History professor had spent an entire lecture discussing brooms as phallic symbols and now he couldn't stop thinking about how erotic Arthur looked with a broomstick between his legs.

Arthur was usually a rule-obeying goody-two-shoes (at least he _acted_ like one, Alfred had his doubts), but out on the Quidditch field, Alfred could see a different, wilder side to Arthur. The messy hair was a reminder that beneath the Gryffindor seeker's carefully cultivated exterior, beat a wild heart. Alfred wanted to get to know that Arthur, because it seemed like they would have a hell of a good time together.

Alfred found himself doodling pictures of Arthur in his unique American drawing style. But none of them really captured the essence of the good-looking Brit.

Kiku pulled the notebook from Alfred's hands and began sketching furiously. A few minutes later, he returned the notebook with the addition of an amazing drawing of Arthur. The Gryffindor seeker looked like the king of the skies with an intense look of concentration on his face and his robes flaring out behind him.

"Wow, you're seriously good at this," Alfred gushed as he admired the sketch. He folded it carefully and slipped the drawing into a pocket. He grinned and resumed watching the match. The picture was good, but nothing could perfectly capture the real thing.

* * *

Arthur's eye caught a flash of gold in the stands, but he knew it was the American's hair and not the snitch. No one else's hair shimmered quite so brightly. Arthur wished that the other boy would stop being so infernally distracting. He was an irredeemable wanker and it was definitely _his_ fault that Arthur couldn't concentrate on the game.

The Gryffindor seeker narrowed his eyes as the gold shifted slightly. The clever snitch was using a line-of-sight trick to hide in the gold of Alfred's hair. It seemed to have sensed that Alfred was the one portion of the stadium that Arthur was desperately trying to avoid.

Two could play at this game. Flying up to a higher elevation, and never gazing directly at the snitch, Arthur smoothly moved closer to the snitch without letting the sentient ball know that it had been spotted. Arthur was a fast and agile seeker, but more importantly, he was also a clever one.

At the last moment, Arthur nose-dived towards the stands, putting himself on a near collision course with Alfred. At the last moment, he pulled away, the snitch in one hand and a proud smirk on his face. He had ended the game in less than an hour, proving that muggle-borns could be just as good as any "pureblood."

Arthur spent a brief, thrilling moment admiring the awed look on Alfred's face, before he spun around and joined his teammates on the field to celebrate their victory.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Happy Halloween! Turns out they don't really celebrate Halloween out here. It's kinda weird. Can you send me a bag of chocolates? I need to show my classmates what they're missing._

_Also, I got your letter with the Christmas plans. Looks good! Do you think it would be okay if I brought a friend? There's someone I want you to meet._

_Love,_  
 _Alfred_

* * *

Alfred sighed, wishing that Great Britain wasn't so damn _wet_. First, Halloween had passed without a single piece of free candy, and now they had a week of constant November rain. His hair lay flat against his head (except for his incorrigible cowlick) and he hated wearing his contacts. But he had to keep practicing because he wasn't going to lose to Arthur at the third Gryffindor/Slytherin game. Their final match before Christmas break.

The rest of the team practiced tossing quaffles and dodging bludgers. For his part, Alfred used one of the training snitches to practice finding the snitch on an overcast day. He was cold and damp and not having much success. When their time on the field ran out, the rest of the Slytherin team waved goodbye as Alfred continued searching for the snitch. He'd set it on a one hour timer, so the snitch would automatically return if he didn't find it in that amount of time. Unfortunately, he still had another ten minutes to go.

"Here, snitchy-snitchy-snitchy," Alfred called loudly, the same way he called his cat for breakfast. Unlike his cat, the snitch didn't magically appear, meowing hungrily. Alfred sighed, but instantly perked up when he spotted a flash of dull gold close to the ground. He swooped low and was rewarded with the caress of cool metal against his hand.

He jumped off his broom and turned around to return the training snitch to the lockers. At that moment, Alfred noticed what he hadn't before—the Gryffindor Quidditch team standing between him and the lockers. He'd forgotten to check the schedule, but it must have been their turn to practice after the Slytherin team finished.

"It's good that you're finally finished. I thought it would take you forever to catch that snitch," Arthur said harshly as he slipped to the front of the pack. They glared at each other from across the wet and rainy field.

Alfred laughed and sauntered forward. "Well, at least I don't need to rely on my team to distract the other seeker with bludgers," he taunted. He noticed the Quidditch players behind Arthur starting to reach for their wands and it dawned on the Slytherin that he should have brought his own little army if he wanted to face off against the Gryffindor seeker.

"Did you think that was about winning?" Arthur growled. He stalked forward until the two seekers were standing almost nose to nose. "If you go around calling people _mudbloods_ you earned every single bloody bruise."

"I never said that," Alfred softly replied, as he reached out and placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders. He felt buoyed by the small seed of doubt that flashed across the other boy's eyes, but Arthur's harsh expression soon returned. He shook his head and glared, shrugging off Alfred's arms just as he shrugged off his words.

"I know what I heard. We all know what we heard. The only thing I want to know is why they never punished you. Did your parents bribe them?"

Alfred shook his head. He wished he had the right words to convince Arthur, but he somehow doubted that words would do the trick. They had started out on such friendly terms and now he really didn't understand how things had come to this. He hated the feeling of Arthur staring at him with angry eyes. Wet, angry eyes.

"Are you crying?" the taller boy asked, too softly for anyone but Arthur to hear. He wasn't sure if it was tears or the rain, but it hurt him to look either way.

"No," Arthur angrily replied, pushing Alfred away. Alfred slipped and landed on his butt in the mud. He barely had time to react before Arthur had pressed a muddy boot against his chest.

"Tell me why they didn't punish you!" Arthur shouted.

"Because I didn't do anything!" Alfred yelled back. He kicked Arthur's leg out from under him and the Gryffindor boy fell forward, landing on top of Alfred. Alfred felt his own wand jabbing him, trapped with the rest of his robe under his leg. Instead of digging out his own wand, he grabbed Arthur's wand from the boy's inner pocket, realizing that there was a mass of angry Gryffindor students that would be ready to shoot spells as soon as they had the Slytherin seeker in clear line of sight.

"Alfred! How could you decide to have a fight without us?" a voice called across the field. The accent was French, but to Alfred it sounded like a chorus of angels.

"That's not awesome at all!" Gilbert added.

The Slytherin trio rushed into the fight on their broomsticks, tossing spells left and right. With their aerial advantage and extensive combat experience, they laid waste to the opposing Quidditch team.

As shouts and spells flew around them, Alfred focused on Arthur, finally noticing that the other boy had taken advantage of Alfred's distraction to reclaim his wand. The smaller boy pulled back and rose unsteadily to his feet. He pointed the wand at Alfred, then shook his head and lowered his arm. Alfred pushed himself off the ground and stood up. They faced each other silently and Alfred finally noticed that the silence had spread across the field.

He watched as Arthur fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands. He dimly realized that a stray shot of the trio's new spell had struck the Gryffindor boy. Alfred couldn't avert his gaze, even as Francis tugged on his elbow.

"We should leave before the teachers catch on," Francis murmured.

Alfred nodded. Arthur's sobs tugged at his heart—surely they meant that the Gryffindor boy regretted their fight—but Alfred resisted the urge to rush forward. He was beginning to realize that it was better if they went their separate ways.

He gave Arthur one final look and then walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, the American Revolution happened on a muddy Quidditch field. I love America + BFT because the trio is composed of countries that sided with America during the Revolutionary War.
> 
> Opprimendi Desperatio = terrible Latin for Crushing Despair. The best part about the HPverse is that spell names based on terrible Latin is canon. Bonus points if you recognize that I stole the spell name from D&D.


	5. The New Prefect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred receives an apology and a new title

_"It's good that you're finally finished, Jones. I thought it would take you forever to catch that snitch."_

_"Well, at least I don't need to rely on my team to distract the other seeker."_

A surge of anger filled Arthur when he saw Alfred laughing and sauntering on the rainy Quidditch field, acting like nothing had changed between them. He didn't understand why Hogwarts teachers, who professed to treat all of their students equally, had done nothing to punish Alfred for using a hateful and evil slur.

_"Did you think that was about winning? If you go around calling people mudbloods you earned every single bloody bruise."_

_"I never said that."_

If only the American would just call him a mudblood directly to his face, Arthur knew he would finally be able to let go of his hopeless infatuation. But the American had to gall to act confused and ignorant.

_"Tell me why they didn't punish you!"_

_"Because I didn't do anything!"_

Even as he pointed his wand at the other boy, Arthur knew that he wouldn't be able to take his shot. On some level, Alfred seemed to know it too. The American didn't reach for his wand to defend himself.

Terrible grief overwhelmed Arthur, pushing him to his knees. When he looked up again, the other boy was gone, along with all of his hopes for ever reclaiming their original friendship.

Unwilling to face his team, Arthur stumbled away from the field and sought refuge in the one nearby place that he knew would be completely secure: Silver's stall. He leaned against the unicorn foal, accepting her gentle nuzzles as comfort. The dry straw felt warm beneath him, especially compared to the rain outside. Flying Mint Bunny, sensing Arthur's distress, soon joined them.

The overwhelming despair disappeared in the unicorn's presence (which told Arthur that it was the result of a spell and not an acute attack of depression), but Arthur could still feel an underlying sadness. He had been wrong about Alfred. He had been so _angry_ that no one was punishing the Slytherin for calling another student a mudblood that he had decided to take matters into his own hands. As a Prefect he had a duty to protect other students, but he had let that duty drift into misguided vigilantism.

Arthur had cast the Veritas charm on Alfred before their fight on the Quidditch field. Either Alfred was diabolical genius who had discovered a way to counter the spell's effect or he was a well-meaning idiot. Arthur had to admit to himself that the second choice was far more likely. Whatever Alfred _had_ said right before their second game, it wasn't a slur against Arthur's muggle heritage.

The Gryffindor pet Silver's soft mane and then dried his eyes, delaying the moment when he would have to go back, remove curses from his fellow team members, and convince them that revenge wasn't the answer. But he knew he couldn't wait long—his team would worry and jump to the wrong conclusions if he just disappeared.

As Arthur expected, his team was a mess.

They cancelled practice for the day as they huddled in the locker room, sipping cocoa and discussing their next move. To Arthur's surprise, the team unanimously supported not reporting the incident to their professors. In retrospect, it made sense that they didn't want to acknowledge that three Slytherins chasers had taken down most of the Gryffindor team. And no one wanted to admit how the trio's new spell made them cry uncontrollably. Arthur saw a lot of red-rimmed eyes as he glanced around the benches.

"Let's get payback by defeating them in our next match," Arthur proposed. It drew a weak cheer, but given recent events, he decided it was the best he could hope for.

* * *

Alfred wished it would stop raining. He liked bright blue skies, so each time he glanced out his window and saw water falling from the sky, it felt depressing. Even worse, the constant rain reminded him of Arthur.

It was unfair. It wasn't really his fault—okay, the yo momma joke _had_ been his fault, but the other stuff wasn't. And maybe Alfred had pushed the other boy a bit, but he thought they were just kidding around. Arthur was the one who decided to get mad and turn it into an all-out war on the Quidditch field. Alfred was pretty sure that Arthur had disliked him before, but now he knew that Arthur hated him. If only life had an undo button, he could go back and fix everything.

The American perked up as he realized that creating an undo button was the _perfect_ solution to his Arthur problems. He'd never have to worry about saying the wrong thing ever again because he could just go back and fix it. His plan was so brilliant that he bounded out of his room to share it with someone so they could praise his brilliance.

"...you mean like a time-turner?" Madeleine asked after Alfred laid out his awesome plan for an invention to solve all his problems.

"What's that?" Alfred plopped down on the chair next to her. They had the Slytherin lounge to themselves at the moment since most of the other students had already left for dinner. Alfred wasn't sure if he was supposed to let other students into the tower, but given that he was in Slytherin and people _expected_ him to break the rules, he decided that he might as well invite Madeleine over.

She made a small twisting motion with her hand, showing the approximate size of the magical device. "They were lockets that let you travel back in time."

Alfred bounced in his seat. "Yes! That's perfect! Where can I get one?"

"You'd need to travel back in time, I'm afraid. They were all destroyed in 1996," she said with an apologetic shrug.

"Did they make more?" Alfred asked desperately.

"They're in the process, but I've heard it can take decades to make a new one."

"I can't wait decades!" Alfred complained. He could barely wait a few minutes. Even Alfred recognized that patience, while a general virtue, wasn't one of _his_ virtues.

Madeleine laughed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Honestly, Alfred, have you ever thought about trying to solve your problems with talking? Saying sorry is quite easy, you know. I can even help you practice. Say it with me: I'm soh-ry."

"Sah-ry."

"Soh-ry."

"Sah-ry."

The repeated it back and forth a few times, before Madeleine sighed and had to give up on Alfred's pronunciation. "Nevermind, you're hopeless."

"Sah-ry," Alfred replied, ducking when Madeleine tossed a green-and-silver pillow at him. He briefly considered starting a pillow fight, but it didn't seem quite so much fun since he was still bummed out by the situation with Arthur. He leaned back into his chair and sighed, disappointed that his brilliant plan wasn't the solution he had hoped for.

They both glanced up as Francis opened the door to the lounge. Madeleine suddenly grinned. "You know, if you want romantic advice, you should ask Francis," she suggested.

The French boy glanced at her in surprise and then smiled. He took the seat next to the Hufflepuff and slung his arm around her shoulders, causing her to blush prettily. "It is true! I am a master of romance," he bragged.

The American looked at the other boy skeptically. He wasn't an expert, but he was pretty sure that Arthur and Francis disliked each other. Even though they had dated once (according to Madeleine), it seemed like their relationship had ended poorly.

"I don't think he believes you," Madeleine said in a stage whisper.

"Perhaps you are right," Francis agreed. "It is too bad. I have a simple solution. For cases like this, you just go up and kiss him."

"Do you think that'd work?" Madeleine asked curiously.

"Absolument."

"Il n'y a qu'une seule façon de le savoir," she said mischievously. Francis blinked and replied with a fluid sentence of his native tongue, thrilled to find someone who spoke the same musical language.

Alfred sighed and decided it was probably time to head for dinner because neither of them were going to resume talking in English anytime soon.

* * *

He found Gilbert and Antonio in the entrance hall.

"Guys, we have got to do something about that," Gilbert said, pointing to one of the four giant hourglasses that kept track of house points. Each house accumulated points when its students did good deeds, correctly answered questions in class, or won Quidditch matches. The houses lost points for rule-breaking. Normally students wanted to win the House Cup by collecting the most points, but the Slytherin trio decided that if they weren't going to win, they might as well lose spectacularly.

A few emeralds sat at the bottom of Slytherin's hourglass, showing that the house had managed to move into the positives, after weeks of negative tallies. If they weren't careful, they would end up tied with Hufflepuff, whose students had a difficult time collecting points because professors tended to forget that they even existed. (Although they also tended not to lose many points for the same reason.) The Ravenclaw students did well at answering questions in class, but occasionally lost points for 'being total smartarses.'

"Alfred, I told you to stop answering questions correctly in Potions class," Gilbert said.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head guiltily. "Dude, I _gave_ a totally wrong answer but the professor just laughed and added points for 'sheer cheek.' I'll try to be wronger next time," he promised.

"I thought we would have lost mucho points after the Gryffindor team went home crying," Antonio added with a confused tilt of his head.

Gilbert grinned. "I think we need to target the people who control the points. What do you say we do something terrible to the Prefects' bathroom?"

"Si! Si!" Antonio agreed cheerfully.

"What's the Prefects' bathroom?" Alfred asked.

Gilbert gestured dramatically. "It's like the Shangri-La of bathrooms, dude. It's filled with stained glass windows and awesome types of bubble bath. Gilbird loves it, 'cause it's the best birdbath ever. Only Prefects and Quidditch captains have the key, but locks can't stop the awesome Gil."

Alfred nodded excitedly, thinking that if they went at the right time they could potentially catch Arthur in the bathroom which would be awesome and wait, why had an image of Arthur suddenly popped into his head? Alfred had tried to stop thinking about Arthur, but the more he tried to stop, the more the Gryffindor boy filled his head.

"Alfred!" the head of Slytherin House called from the other side of the entrance hall, waving him over. Alfred turned to face her, trying hard not to think about Arthur covered in bubbles, and finding himself unable to wipe the appealing mental image from his mind. He'd never seen Arthur with a come-hither look, but he could still imagine it perfectly. He didn't notice as Antonio and Gilbert slipped off.

The professor led Alfred back to her office in the dungeons near the potion classroom. As he walked, he began to worry that he was going to be in trouble for his fight with the Gryffindor team earlier that day. He hoped that she wouldn't do anything drastic like kick him off the team. Quidditch was Alfred's life.

He was so lost in his worried thoughts that it took Alfred a few seconds to mentally process what the head of Slytherin House was telling him.

"You want _me_ to be the Slytherin Prefect?" he asked in shock.

"Of course. We have a female Prefect already, but we haven't had a suitable _male_ candidate in awhile. Since you've done so well in potions and Quidditch I thought you would be the natural choice."

Alfred nodded eagerly. Anything that increased his odds of seeing Arthur in a bubble bath was definitely work it.

* * *

The Prefects' bathroom was just as beautiful as Gilbert described. Alfred swore he could hear a chorus of angels sing when he stepped onto the marble floors. Splashes of vibrant color filled the room with colorful rays of sunshine gleaming through the stained glass windows. Each window depicted beautiful mermaids and mermen, with tails for every color of the rainbow.

One of the mermen actually looked like Arthur, having the same his thick eyebrows and brilliant green eyes. He had a slender, smooth body and a bright green tail, matching the color of his eyes. Alfred stepped closer to the window, hoping to get a better view. As he leaned in, the merman winked. Alfred was so shocked that he slipped and fell backwards into the pool, still fully clothed. He struggled briefly, then heard a splash as another body entered the water and two lithe arms helped him to the surface.

The water on Alfred's glasses made it difficult for him to make out the shape in front of him. He could tell the other person was blond and a boy... and had a bright green tail.

Alfred gaped.

"You're not supposed to wear clothes in the bath," a voice that sounded remarkably like Arthur said seductively.

"Shall I help you take them off?" the merman asked.

The merman removed Alfred's clothes with no resistance. Alfred was still trying to understand how Arthur had turned into a merman. Was it some sort of kinky spell? Francis had hinted that Arthur was extremely kinky beneath his straight-laced exterior, but Alfred had never imagined that the other boy was into mermen. Then again, Alfred had never imagined that _he_ was interested in mermen, but judging by his body's reaction, he found the other boy incredibly attractive.

"These have always been very fascinating to me," Arthur said. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?" he asked. When Alfred didn't answer, Arthur slipped his hand between Alfred's legs, drawing a moan of pleasure from the American's lips. With a grin, the merman ducked his head under water and Alfred wondered what the other boy was doing until he suddenly realized that the merman planned to suck him underwater. Arthur began with a gentle back-and-forth motion, like soft ripples on a small pond, but soon built up to crashing waves. Just as Alfred crested, the dream popped like a bubble.

He felt hot and feverish and decided to spend the rest of day in bed. After that wet dream, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to face Arthur again.

* * *

As a gentleman, Arthur knew that he ought to apologize to Alfred for his accusations, but he could find neither hide nor hair of the other boy. They didn't pass each other in the hallway and Alfred skipped Charms (the only class they shared). Arthur continued his usual study sessions in the library with Kiku, hoping that Alfred would join them. The Slytherin student never appeared, but his Hufflepuff friend did.

She dropped a book in front of Arthur— _Blood Bigotry Through the Ages_ —and opened it to a marked page. "Read this," she said, pointing to a section on the use of blood slurs around the world. It explained that immigration patterns in North America meant few witches or wizards could trace their lineage for more than few generations. As a result, wizarding social classes were based on wealth, rather than blood purity.

"Mud clumps. He was talking about _mud clumps_ ," she explained. "He didn't even know what the m-word was, until I explained it to him."

Arthur looked up from the book and could see in her eyes that Madeleine was willing to rant at him for at least three hours. "I know," he admitted, cutting off her planned speech.

She crossed her arms. "Well, I think you ought to tell that to Alfred."

"How, exactly? If you haven't noticed, he's been avoiding me."

"I can tell you where he'll be at 3 o'clock tomorrow," she offered.

Arthur frowned slightly, unsure why she was willing to divulge Alfred's location, but glad that he would finally have a chance to speak with the other boy one-on-one. "I thought you were Alfred's friend," he murmured.

"I am. He hasn't left his room for days and I'm getting sick of it. In fact, I tried to lure him out with pancakes, and he actually said no," she whispered to Arthur and Kiku in the horrified tones of a true maple-syrup lover.

"My goodness," Arthur dryly replied, hiding his genuine distress at the thought that he'd pushed the socialable Slytherin to become a shut-in. "How do you know he'll decide to come out tomorrow?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Oh, he said he'd be done with his new video game by lunch tomorrow," Madeleine admitted, adding, "If nothing else, I'm pretty sure he'll run out of snacks by then."

Arthur sighed and suddenly didn't feel quite so guilty knowing that Alfred was sitting in his room playing video games instead of moping.

The Gryffindor student finished his homework and then pulled out a fresh page of parchment for the letter he didn't want to write. He was sick of his aunt sending him a continuous stream of howlers because he had refused to put his cousin Peter on the Quidditch team. Arthur would have made the exact same decision to keep Peter off the team even if his cousin was the best player on earth, but fortunately, he hadn't faced a difficult decision. His annoying cousin, like most first years, was simply not a very good player.

Unfortunately, his aunt's howlers complaining about that decision were becoming increasingly annoying and Arthur intended to do something about it.

* * *

_Dear Aunt and Uncle,_

_From now on, all of your owls are being routed through the headmaster's office. I have spoken with him and he agreed that the howlers were becoming a disruption to the school. Please do not attempt to contact me unless it is an emergency._

_If you do not want to draw the headmaster's ire, I suggest you stop sending letters. As I have carefully explained to Peter, he is not good enough for the Quidditch team and should continue practicing if he wants a position next year. He would have a better chance if he wasn't a whiny, spoiled brat who thinks he is entitled to a position (the inevitable result of your disastrous attempt at parenting)._

_You should also be aware that first-years are not allowed to have broomsticks, so the Headmaster has confiscated your gift to Peter._

_Sincerely,_ _  
_Arthur_ _

* * *

The next day, Alfred snuck out to the Quidditch field after his afternoon class. If he could get in some extra practicing, then he'd be able to beat Arthur at their next game. They were 1-to-1 at the moment, so the next game would tip the balance. Recruiters for professional Quidditch teams only attended the final match of the year, making it imperative that Slytherin be in the top two if Alfred wanted a chance to get scouted.

The American practiced some speed drills first, enjoying the sunny day. He loved the feeling of freedom on a broomstick. He knew why humans had always dreamed of flight. It was the most amazing feeling in the world.

After he warmed up racing back and forth across the field, Alfred pulled out the training snitch and set the timer to 30 minutes. With every nerve on high alert, he scanned the field, following the standard back-cross grid pattern.

Alfred spotted the snitch in the lower left corner of the field, but it dodged out of his way before he could reach it. He needed to be better about sneaking up on the snitch, the way Arthur had captured it during the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor game.

"Are you looking for this?" a crisp British voice asked from the sidelines. Shivers ran up Alfred's spine. Was he just imagining it, or was Arthur actually trying to sound seductive?

The Slytherin turned and gawked. Arthur was riding his broom side-saddle with his legs crossed delicately at the ankles. He held the training snitch in one hand and a porcelain cup of tea in the other. Alfred picked his jaw off the ground and flew forward, accepting the offered snitch as he hovered next to Arthur.

Alfred grinned, recognizing an opportunity to restart their enjoyable insult-battles (this time _without_ yo momma jokes). He missed trading wits with Arthur. "Huh. So you _can_ catch a snitch." It was weak, but he was out of practice.

"I think you'll find that our first game was an aberration."

Alfred shivered at the thought of apparitions. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts!" he quickly replied, his own personal motto when faced with the specter of specters.

"What?" Arthur asked, completely puzzled by the non sequitur.

An awkward silence settled over them as Arthur worked up the courage to apologize. He coughed, clearing his throat, and finally said, "I'm... terribly sorry about last week. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Alfred blinked, then slowly smiled as comprehension dawned and left a warm feeling in his stomach. "Hey, it's no big deal. Franny, Toni, and Gil can't stop bragging. They're actually sad they didn't lose our house points for it. We're barely in the negatives, y'know."

Arthur chuckled. "You'd best be careful. If you weren't so good for their Quidditch team, they'd be upset that you keep earning house points in Potions class. And, uh, congratulations on becoming Prefect."

The Slytherin seeker nodded absent-mindedly. He'd been thinking of ways to ensure victory in their next Quidditch match, and his best idea thus far came from Francis, who had suggested betting with Arthur on the outcome of the third match. (Francis had also proposed certain... very Francis-like terms, but Alfred wasn't planning to take that suggestion.)

"Hey Kirkland, what do you say we make things interesting by having a little wager on the match?"

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well..." Alfred said, grinning as he drew out the word in a playful manner, "I was thinking you could wear Slytherin colors for a whole day if I win."

"Hmm. Very well, I propose that if my team wins—and we will—you'll have to pay for my celebratory drinks," Arthur counter-offered.

Alfred nodded. "Deal."

They shook hands.

"I think you'll find I have the better end of our bargain, Jones," Arthur said with a mischievous smirk. "You've never seen how much I can drink." He placed one hand on his broom, before flying off, still holding his cup of tea.

The American grinned back; he'd happily pay just about anything to see Arthur get drunk, so it would be a win either way. Of course, he still wanted to _win_ , but nothing stopped him from offering to buy Arthur drinks anyway. He was starting to think that his odds with Arthur weren't quite so hopeless after all...

A few minutes later, the training snitch that Alfred had originally been chasing returned to his hand, having reached the end of its timer. He stared at the two training snitches in confusion, before realizing that Arthur hadn't caught a snitch. He had just grabbed the other training snitch, to make Alfred _think_ that he had. The American grinned.

"Very sneaky, Arthur. How... Slytherin of you."

No matter who won at their third match-up, Alfred couldn't wait to see what happened afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, America's isolation period lasted a few days and involved video games and snack food.
> 
> This should be the last of the dream make-out sessions. Only real snogging from now on!


	6. Broom Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets drunk and accepts an invitation.

Luck was with Alfred on the day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin match, at least as far as the weather was concerned. It was about as sunny and warm as one could expect for early December in Great Britain. Alfred was just glad there wasn't any snow. Spotting the golden snitch became immensely difficult when combined with snow glare.

The American pulled on his leather gloves, silently thanking his parents for buying him ones with a special warming charm. Mittens were warm, but made it difficult to get a good grip on the snitch.

Alfred nodded at Arthur as they both took the field, but he decided to avoid any sort of pre-game taunt. He'd definitely learned _that_ lesson.

The Slytherin seeker didn't have a particular plan for this game. Just speed and luck and the determination to be the best Quidditch player at Hogwarts. He liked to fly by the speed of his pants—he found that his unpredictability made it difficult for the other team.

As he took to the sky, Alfred began an easy loop of the field, watching carefully for any sight of the golden snitch. The two teams played roughly, and the referees had to call a number of fouls, awarding penalty points for egregious examples of blagging, blatching, and blurting. Alfred dodged a few bludgers, but felt that the majority of the attention was on the three Slytherin chasers.

The American had tried other positions on the Quidditch team, but he loved Seeker best. It was almost always _his_ actions that determined who won or lost the game (since the 150 points gained from catching the snitch dwarfed the 10 points for each quaffle sent through one of the three hoops). In other words, he was the Quidditch hero.

Alfred adored Quidditch because it brought together his two great loves: flying around and sport. Turning broomstick flight into a sport was a brilliant idea. Having searched the upper area of the stadium, the American dived back into the flurry of action below. Sometimes the snitch liked to hide near other players, making it more difficult to spot.

Alfred crossed paths with Arthur a few times and he noticed that the other seeker seemed to be having trouble controlling his broomstick. The Gryffindor's normally fluid movements had turned jerky. Some of the older broomsticks became less responsive as they aged. Alfred frowned. It didn't seem fair to win because he had the newest and fastest model of broom, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now.

He could just give Arthur a new broomstick, though the other boy would probably reject the present. He didn't think that Arthur _hated_ him, but accepting a gift from your rival would be pretty awkward. The division between their two houses didn't help.

As he passed by Arthur's position again, Alfred suddenly spotted the snitch flying behind Arthur, just outside the other boy's reach. His excited glance caused the Gryffindor seeker to peer over his shoulder, and Alfred knew he had only a second to lunge forward and grab it before Arthur did. The British boy tried to maneuver his broom closer, but his broomstick sputtered for a moment, hovered in mid-air, and then began to plummet.

Alfred felt his stomach plummet too, but he reacted instinctively. He darted forward on his own broom and grabbed the smaller boy from behind. For a second he thought that Arthur would slip from his grasp, but he tightened his arm and pulled up just before they hit the ground. Alfred dragged his feet along the grass to pull to a stop. They both rolled off the broom onto the ground, Alfred with one arm still wrapped around Arthur.

"Arthur?" he asked, as he pulled himself off the other boy.

"I-I… did I just see that?" the announcer stammered, and for once, felt silent. The stadium also reacted with shocked silence before the murmurs began.

"I'm fine," Arthur reassured him before climbing unsteadily to his feet. "It was... an old broomstick." His teammates crowded around their seeker, pushing Alfred away. One of the Gryffindor chasers glared at Alfred as he tried to get back to Arthur's side.

Alfred blinked in confusion. He wasn't expecting flowers and chocolates, but a little bit of recognition would be nice. He was pretty sure he had singlehandedly saved their seeker from serious injury. (He would have done it anyway, but Alfred _liked_ receiving public praise, and thought he deserved some.)

Two of Arthur's teammates escorted the Gryffindor seeker to the nurse, before Alfred had a chance to say anything to the other boy. The referees examined Arthur's broom and declared that it had been hexed, although they couldn't identify the source of the spell. The fans in the stadium reacted with outrage.

"Sorry, folks, it looks like the refs have decided to cancel this game until they can figure out the source of interference," the announcer explained. "But we all know it was the Slytherins."

The stadium cheered in approval when the refs announced that the scores for the game wouldn't count. Slytherin had been leading by 30 points, but the referees decided it was unfair to allow them to accumulate points from the game when the situation appeared to be the result of sabotage.

The American clenched his fist, torn between the desire to yell in the referee's face and his need to find Arthur and hug the other boy, just to reassure himself that Arthur really was okay. He let Francis pull him away before he did something stupid like punch someone in the face. Unlike Madeleine, he wasn't good with invisibility charms.

Alfred did punch one of the lockers, leaving a small dent in the metal as a result. He felt angry and helpless at the idea that _someone_ had messed with Arthur's broom, putting the Gryffindor seeker in serious danger. The reality of the danger was starting to sink in. If Alfred hadn't been so close, if he hadn't reacted so quickly... he didn't know what would have happened. The referees could cast a spell to levitate students before they hit the ground, but sometimes the falls happened too quickly.

" _Mon ami_ , don't take your frustration out on the locker," Francis said.

"It wasn't anyone on our team... was it?" Alfred asked, surveying the room for any sign of guilt. Everyone shook their head.

Gilbert laughed. "Hell no. Hexing a broom? Totally not awesome."

"Do you remember that time we put a leg-locker curse on Arthur and he had to hop from the Gryffindor tower to the dining hall like a bunny?" Antonio reminisced.

"Now _that_ was awesome."

Once the surge of anger passed, Alfred leaned against his locker and tried to identify the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't really felt anything when it happened—he had just acted. Now he wanted to hug Arthur, but even Alfred realized that the Gryffindor's teammates probably weren't going to let that happen. Even worse, the cancelled match meant that neither of them had won the wager.

"You know what we need?" Gilbert slapped his hand against the bench. "Beer."

"That's your solution for everything," Francis replied. But he still agreed, and so did Alfred. A distraction sounded like a good idea.

* * *

Arthur needed a distraction. The nurse kept hovering over him, insisting that he should be treated for shock. Arthur knew the proper treatment for shock—a stiff shot of whiskey. He doubted he would get that sort of treatment in the nurse's office. He waited until a herbology student staggered into the room covered in thorns, and then Arthur made his escape, stealthily ducking and weaving until he reached the door.

The next step of his plan involved finding a broomstick. Although the seventh-year student had his apparition license, it was impossible to apparate out of Hogwarts. Given recent events, his own broom wasn't an option. Arthur grinned when he realized that his aunt and uncle's gift to Peter would be the perfect substitute. As the Gyffindor Prefect, he knew that the broom was being stored in the north tower. In fact, he had placed it there himself. Acting nonchalantly, Arthur walked through the hallways until he reached the staircase for the north tower. After ensuring that no one was around, he gave the correct password and slipped into the tower room.

The sun had already begun to set, giving Arthur the cover of darkness as he made his escape from the north tower. The nurse would assume he went back to the Gryffindor dorms, his housemates would assume that he was in the nurse's office, and no one would know where he really was. A muggle pub.

* * *

Ditching their robes in favor of normal teenager clothing, the four Slytherin boys snuck out of their dormitory windows later that evening—four dark shapes flying across the night sky. After a short flight, they landed near a small village and hid their broomsticks behind a shack. The village looked surprisingly mundane.

Alfred glanced around. "Hey, guys? This doesn't look like Hogsmeade."

"It isn't," Francis replied. "Hogsmeade bars would recognize Hogwarts students breaking curfew, not to mention, the pubs in Hogsmeade only serve Butterbeer. It is easy to fool muggles with magically-crafted fake IDs and purchase _real_ drinks."

Francis pushed open the door and sauntered up to the counter, the other three students following closely behind. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert ordered drinks like the old pros that they were. Alfred took longer to look at the menu before deciding to get a coke. He defended his choice on the basis that soda was obviously the best drink ever and he couldn't get any of it at Hogwarts.

A quick glance to the side revealed a surprisingly familiar, blond head sitting at the end of the bar. Alfred elbowed Francis. "Hey, what's Arthur doing here?" he asked in surprise. He remembered his wager (although he was pretty sure neither of them had actually won that particular bet), but he didn't think Arthur would be up for drinking after his near plummet. He was surprised Arthur had even been able to escape the nurse's room. She could be very strict about proper medical care.

Francis smiled. "Looking to unwind, would be my guess. We have a truce with Arthur here. He doesn't report us and we don't report him."

Hearing his name, Arthur turned to face them and sighed into his glass. "Of all the pubs, in all the world, they had to walk into mine."

"Come on, Kirkland, it's not _your_ pub," Alfred replied as he took the closest stool, trying to hide his excitement when he realized that drunken Arthur was still on the menu. Screw soda, he wanted to discover if the Gryffindor was a secret party animal.

"It was a reference to… you know what? Never you mind. Let's get drunk." Arthur tossed back a good portion of his drink, putting his words into action.

"Don't worry, that won't take him long," Gilbert said with a laugh.

To Alfred's surprise, the three Slytherins took their drinks to a table on the other side of the pub and started playing darts. Apparently they were serious about having a truce with the Gryffindor Prefect and leaving him alone as they all drank in peace.

The American tried to look at the Gryffindor student without making his attention obvious. His mouth felt dry from seeing Arthur in black jeans and a t-shirt. Whoever designed the Hogwarts robes needed to be fired because they did nothing to show off Arthur's trim legs and lean form. Alfred suddenly wished he had put more thought into his own clothing choices, instead of just grabbing a t-shirt off the pile.

"So... is everything... okay?" Alfred asked. He'd been worried ever since they trundled Arthur off, but the older boy seemed none the worse for wear.

Arthur glanced up from his glass. "Of course. It was just a bit of a fright, that's all." He frowned slightly and turned back to face his drink. "Why'd you do it?" he asked softly. "You were so close to the snitch."

Alfred sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Come on, dude. It's not like our house motto is 'Slytherin: We Kick Puppies for Fun.' I happen to think that stopping someone from falling forty feet is a _little_ more important than catching the snitch."

Now maybe wasn't the right time to add that there was no way in the world that Alfred would ever let Arthur get hurt if there was something he could do to prevent it. They were still in a not-quite-friends-sorta-rivals category and he didn't want to upset their fragile balance.

The American finished his coke in silence and ordered a second. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Arthur finished his rum in record time. Another glass soon followed. They each ordered glasses at the same time, beginning an unofficial drinking contest. Alfred wondered if he should mention that he was drinking a plain coke, no rum added. It seemed a bit unfair, but he _did_ have a reputation to uphold as a sneaky Slytherin.

* * *

Arthur had a brilliant plan.

He would get the Slytherin seeker ridiculously drunk and then the boy would spill all of his secrets. Arthur still needed to make sure the American was gay or at least a bit bi-curious, so around drink three, he tried some flirting. It worked marvelously. By drink four, Arthur decided that they were perfect for each other and Alfred was the most attractive person he had ever met and they were going to get married and adopt some cats and live a life of sickening sweetness and steamy sex.

After finishing drink five, Arthur still felt sober, because of his amazing tolerance for alcohol, but he realized that Alfred was starting to give him strange looks and had stopped flirting back. He even had the audacity to suggest that Arthur might want to stop drinking, laughing a bit about light-weight Brits. Arthur could hold his liquor better than some American punk! He decided that Alfred was actually a huge jerk and a tease for tugging on his heartstrings and then acting clueless when Arthur tried to give him a hint or two or ten.

* * *

"I dun get it." Arthur drunkenly complained. "You confuz... confuddle me. One minute, nice. Next minute, jerk. Why are the handsome ones always jocks... jerks? 's not fair."

Alfred grinned as he sipped his coke. Arthur flickered through different moods like a kaleidoscope, going from flirtatious to maudlin to grumpy within heartbeats. He seemed to have settled on 'honest drunk' for the moment, so Alfred prodded Arthur for more information, which the Gryffindor drunkenly provided.

"You got a nice face and you fly like a… like a really good flyer person. But 's not fair 'cause you're a prat. The good looking ones are always prats." The smaller blond took another sip from his glass. He stared into the liquid, as if looking for answers to all of life's questions, and then tipped back the drink, finishing every last drop.

The American frowned. "You still haven't told me what a prat is."

Arthur scowled. "You're a prat! And a sneak. Sneaky as a wossname… a Slitherman..."

"Oh come on, Artie, our first game was just a game."

"Excuse me, lad. Is your friend okay?" the bartender asked.

Alfred laughed. "Oh yeah, he's fine! He always gets like this." The American ordered enough coke and slurped it down. He was happy that Arthur found him attractive. Who knew that alcohol could work better than a Veritas charm? It was too bad that Arthur was too drunk for Alfred to even think about doing anything other than making sure Arthur got back to the dorms safely.

He glanced over at the English boy. With his glazed eyes and flushed face, the shorter blond had clearly passed merely drunk and was now to the point of completely smashed. His eyelids stayed permanently half-closed and his green eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. It was actually a bit of surprise that he hadn't already passed out on the floor amidst the pools of spilled drinks.

As Alfred started to wonder if he should suggest that they stop drinking while Arthur was still upright, the drunken boy stumbled off his stool and leaned close to Alfred. The smell of rum hung in the air between them, adding to the tense atmosphere. Arthur's eyes fluttered shut and he leaned forward. The American held his breath in anticipation, but the English boy swayed dangerously and sprawled across Alfred's lap.

Unbalanced by the extra weight, Alfred gripped the bar counter with one hand and steadied Arthur with the other. Once they were in no immediate danger of sliding off the stool and landing in a pile on the floor, he lifted Arthur to a mostly standing position and wrapped Arthur's arm around his neck. Alfred walked over to his friends, supporting most of Arthur's weight as the Gryffindor stumbled along, leaning against the larger boy.

"Guys! I think Arthur's done for the night," Alfred explained as he readjusted his grip on the other boy's waist. "I'm gonna head back."

They glanced up and laughed at the inebriated Gryffindor. Despite being three sheets to the wind, Arthur managed to slur out a few insults at the 'bloody wankers.' After he finished his insults, he slumped further to the side and his head lolled against Alfred's shoulder. Alfred didn't know it was possible to pass out while still standing upright, but the Gryffindor had somehow managed it.

"I think he was done three drinks ago," Francis corrected.

" _Kesesese_ , what a lightweight."

"Have fun taking him back!" Antonio cheerfully added.

Alfred nodded. All he needed to do was figure out how to carry two people on two broomsticks, when one of those people was completely wasted. He slung Arthur across his shoulders and walked to the front of the bar.

"Hey, got some duct tape?" Alfred asked the bartender after he paid for their drinks.

* * *

Two brooms duct taped together provided a surprisingly stable ride. He placed Arthur in front of him and kept one arm firmly wrapped around the smaller wizard to hold him steady. Aside from a bit of puking early on, Arthur seemed content to hold on to the broomstick for dear life and keep his eyes tightly closed. He stayed mostly conscious for the entire ride, responding to Alfred's questions with rambling rants.

"So how come you can see magical creatures that other wizards can't?"

"Fairies don't care if you can't do magic, they show up if you bell... believe. My mum was a muggle and she could always see fairies. Stupid wizards always don't they know everything about magic but they think." The smaller boy sniffled and Alfred, fearing that Arthur had gone back from ranting drunk to maudlin drunk, pulled him a little closer and tried to come up with something distracting. He spotted Hogwarts castle in the distance and grinned.

"Hey, Artie, I can see Hogwarts now," Alfred said, glad that he'd found the way back on his own. Some of these mountains and lakes looked remarkably similar. And Arthur, who kept alternately ranting and nodding off, wasn't providing much in the way of navigational assistance.

Alfred had spent some time thinking about what to do with the wasted Gryffindor, and he decided the easiest course of action would be to let Arthur sleep it off in the Slytherin dormitory so he wouldn't get in trouble for being drunk and breaking curfew. The advantage to being the only sixth year Slytherin boy was that Alfred got his own room. With a little skillful flying, Alfred managed to open his dormitory window, steer them both inside, and drop Arthur directly onto one of the empty beds.

The American untaped the broomsticks and leaned them against the wall. He wasn't sure where Arthur had gotten a new broomstick so quickly, until he checked the name and saw that it actually said "Peter Kirkland." The Slytherin grinned at the mental image of Arthur stealing his cousin's broomstick in order to go drinking.

"Some Prefect you are," he said laughingly to the other boy, who didn't respond from his sprawled-out position on the spare bed.

Alfred tripped over a few piles of clothing and pulled open the dresser, hoping to find the magical first aid kit his mother had packed. He pulled out the box and created a small light with his wand, just enough to help him locate the bezoar—the stonelike mass was able to cure most poisons, including alcohol poisoning.

Alfred bent down next to the spare bed and shook Arthur by the shoulder. "Hey, Artie? Artie?" he said. It took awhile before he got any response, but eventually, green eyes blinked at him and tried to focus on his face.

Arthur didn't show any signs of comprehension in his blurry eyes, but he managed to swallow the bezoar when Alfred popped it into his mouth. It wouldn't do anything for his hangover in the morning, but at least Alfred wouldn't have to worry about the other boy vomiting during the night. He removed Arthur's shoes and slipped a pillow under the Gryffindor's head. The boy blinked at him owlishly before passing out on the pillow.

"I was right. You _do_ know how to party," Alfred said with a laugh, as he gratefully slipped into his own bed. It had been a good night. Drunken Arthur was hilarious and could curse like a sailor. Plus, Alfred was now pretty sure that Arthur liked him back. And with that pleasant thought in his mind, Alfred fell asleep.

* * *

Alfred wasn't a creeper or anything, but he decided that Arthur looked really cute sprawled out on the bed, a bit of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth, his sandy-blond hair spread out across the pillow. Alfred tried to keep quiet as he moved around the room, giving the other boy a chance to sleep in, and hopefully sleep through the worst of his hangover. The American had a plan for reducing the side-effects of the previous night's binge, but he needed some coffee first.

Francis (who had limited himself to a few glasses of wine) was awake and more than willing to use his French press to make Alfred a cup of coffee. Antonio and Gilbert weren't faring quite as well since they had made the mistake of discovering 'red beer' the night before. Tomato juice added to beer produced a red-tinted drink that both boys found utterly irresistible.

"How is _mon lapin_?" Francis asked playfully as he handed a cup of coffee to Alfred.

The American shrugged. "He's still sleeping."

Alfred thought that Francis was about to say something else, but Gilbert chose that moment to get up and start cursing, so Alfred climbed the stairs back down to his own room, coffee cup in hand. He set the cup on the table, added a careful measure from one of the potion bottles he kept on the dresser, and pulled out some of his comic books to pass the time as he waited for Arthur to wake up.

Ever since he made his first potion with a children's kit that his parents had given him at age 7, Alfred had enjoyed experimenting with different potions. Sometimes the results were a bit... explosive, but as he'd grown older he had become more interested in designing his own recipes. It had required a lot of trial and error, but Alfred thought he had designed an antidote for the common hangover. Antonio and Francis claimed it worked, but they also claimed that drinking more beer the next day cured a hangover, so Alfred was a little dubious.

He turned around as he heard movement from the other bed. Arthur had hidden himself under a sheet and was cursing the light. Alfred set down his comics and walked over. He pulled the sheet open and pushed the coffee cup into Arthur's hands. "Here ya go."

Arthur stared at the cup suspiciously.

"It's coffee." Alfred reclaimed the cup and took a sip himself before handing it back to Arthur. "Luke-warm, but still good."

Arthur complained about the bitter taste and tepid temperature, but managed to finish off the entire cup. Color returned to his face and he looked significantly less peaky. He straightened his clothes and tried to fix his hair in the mirror, though his efforts still left him with a wrinkled shirt and a bad case of bed-head. Alfred smiled, seeing that his anti-hangover coffee was having its intended effect. It was good to know that it wasn't just Antonio and Gilbert's imagination.

"I'm in the Slytherin dormitory, aren't I?" Arthur asked as he glanced around the room.

"Yeah, it's pretty sweet. I got a whole room to myself because there aren't any other sixth year boys." Alfred had taken advantage of having his own room to spread his stuff across every surface area in the room. It was a mess, but Alfred had always lived by the philosophy that a clean room was the sign of a deranged mind. Judging by the state of his room, he was the sanest person on earth.

The Gryffindor student crossed the room—frowning as he stepped over piles of dirty clothing—and leaned against Alfred's desk. "No, let me try asking that again. _Why_ am I in the Slytherin dormitory?"

"Well, you were pretty drunk, and I wasn't sure how people would react if I dumped you into the Gryffindor common room."

"You don't even know the password."

"Sure I do. It's 'tiddlywinks.' You mentioned it last night. You said that I quote better bloody deliver you to the right castle because there were too many of them in whales."

"Wales?"

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either."

Arthur frowned, trying to piece together a coherent narrative from his jumbled memories. God, it wasn't fair that the amount of alcohol Arthur needed to work up the courage to kiss Alfred was the same as the amount that caused him to pass out. He remembered the drinking contest with Alfred, his initial attempts to flirt with the other boy, and stumbling off the stool after making the decision to just kiss Alfred. Everything after that was a blacked out blur, although it must have included a broomstick ride back to Hogwarts.

As soon as he thought of his broomstick, Arthur scanned the room to make sure that the American had remembered to bring back Arthur's broom, in addition to Arthur himself. The broom leaned against the wall—leading Arthur to realize that they had actually flown directly into the dormitory. At least that solved the puzzle of how he was going to leave the Slytherin dorm without anyone realizing that he had spent the night.

Francis knocked on the door and tossed a set of robes to Arthur. He reacted to Arthur's shocked stare with a sly grin. "You'll have to change the colors, but I thought Alfred's would be a bit big, non?"

"Thank you," Arthur replied civilly, like the gentleman that he aspired to be, but he surreptitiously checked the robes for itching powder or a stinging hex. When he found nothing, he slipped them on and changed the colors from green to red. At least now he could return to his room with none the wiser. Arthur had some idea of how many questions and comments he would face if his fellow Gryffindors thought he was fraternizing with his rivals.

Francis grabbed the anti-hangover bottle from the dresser and winked at Alfred. "Gilbert wants to try the 'ultimate' hangover cure by combining your potion with beer. It should be quite amusing, non?" he explained.

"Hey, great. Let me know if it causes any explosions," Alfred replied. He hadn't bothered testing the potion when mixed with alcohol ('cause really, who thought of mixing an anti-hangover potion with alcohol?), so it'd be useful to see if it still worked.

Francis paused at the door and glanced back with a quick flip of his wavy hair. "And you two should let me know if you change your mind about that ménage à trois," he said lightly, and then he was gone.

"Not bloody likely," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"So... you and Francis, what's up with that?" Alfred asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Arthur crossed his arms and shook his head. "No. I am far too hungover to feel like dealing with your impertinent questions."

Alfred grinned. "Really? You don't seem hungover at all to me." He was rather pleased with how well the potion had worked. Arthur was acting like his normal, grumpy self, instead of someone who couldn't handle loud noises or light.

"Fine then, I'm too sober for your impertinent questions."

Alfred mentally kicked himself, wishing he had thought to ask about Francis while Arthur was drunk and talkative. He really wanted to know what was going on between those two. At his disappointed look, Arthur's expression softened. The Gryffindor sat back down on the bed, carefully looking at anything except Alfred.

"Look, it's complicated. He's bi, I'm gay. The choices are rather limited here and... it seemed like a good idea at the time."

The American nodded in agreement. He too had given in to his share of things that seemed like good ideas at the time. The extra hamburger or extra bowl of ice cream always seemed like a good idea at the time. He crossed the room and sat down on the bed across from Arthur.

"Yeah, I can understand that. There was this Russian kid at my school. I used to accuse him of being a commie, but when we got into fights... it was actually kinda hot. When we started dating the whole school did a double take."

Arthur made a choking noise and Alfred guessed from the shocked look on Arthur's face that the Gryffindor didn't remember their flirting from the previous night. He hoped that the flirting was Arthur's actual feelings and not just drunken horniness.

The Gryffindor tightened his grip on the bed sheets and glanced down. "Same here. All of Hogwarts acted like we were insane when Francis and I started meeting at Hogsmeade for dates. One of my roommates actually thought I'd been confounded," he admitted.

"That sucks."

"Mmm," Arthur murmured in agreement.

Alfred made a sudden decision. "Hey, Arthur, are you spending Christmas with your aunt and uncle?" he asked.

Arthur looked up, surprised by the abrupt change of topic. "No, of course not."

"My folks are coming to London for the holidays. They're renting a house and it's got a few extra bedrooms. They said I could bring a friend and I was wondering... if you'd like to come?" the American asked hopefully.

"I... that's very kind of you to offer..." Arthur began to reply in his 'gentlemanly' tone. Alfred could hear the 'but' coming from a mile away, and decided to interject before Arthur could reject his offer.

"You could show me around London as a thank you present for saving your life and then bringing you back to the dorms when you got super wasted," the American said quickly.

"I have an amazing tolerance and you didn't save my life," Arthur retorted, though even Alfred could tell that it was an automatic response—Arthur was too proud to admit that he needed help from anyone. And definitely too proud to admit that he couldn't handle more than a few shots of alcohol.

Alfred leaned forward. "Oh yeah, did they figure out who hexed your broomstick?"

After their night of drinking, the American had forgotten about his anger at the saboteur who caused the near-calamity on the Quidditch field. Now he wanted to find that person and give them a serious piece of his mind (and maybe a punch or two). Nobody threatened Arthur and got away with it.

Arthur shook his head. "Not yet, but I have a suspect in mind."

"Really? Well how about you grab your deerstalker cap and I can get my scooby snacks and we'll go solve the mystery!"

Arthur chuckled dryly. "Honestly, Alfred. If you think that _you_ going around asking about the hexed broomstick is going to cause anything other than trouble, you've still got a lot to learn about Hogwarts."

And with that, Arthur stood up, grabbed his broomstick, and opened the window. He paused, turning back to face Alfred. "I haven't lived in London for some time, but if you're willing to put up with my limited knowledge, I'd be happy to show you the city."

"Great!" Alfred waved excitedly as he watched Arthur leave. And for the rest of the day, nothing could wipe the happy grin from his face.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_See you in two weeks! This is going to be the best Christmas ever._

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I'm such a liar. I never planned for Gryffindor to win and I always planned for Arthur to get drunk. And still no kiss. (This is why I like to write the dream make-out sessions, to give my dear readers a little something to tide you over while these two idiots take their sweet time realizing how perfect they are for each other.)
> 
> Sorry, England, looks like your plan to get America stinking drunk and coax information out of him failed just as badly as it did in canon :)


	7. Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred huffed. "All this time I thought 'prat' meant something really terrible and you've just been saying that I'm an idiot?" he complained.
> 
> "Rather proves the point, doesn't it?"

The train ride back to London felt a little like déjà vu. Alfred chose a compartment with Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, and watched in amusement as they bewitched a collection of firecrackers to follow students through the train corridors and explode loudly above their heads.

They had soon succeeded in scaring five Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, two Slytherins (they were equal opportunity pranksters), and one very confused toad.

As the Slytherin Prefect, Alfred was probably supposed to do something to stop it, but he loved firecrackers too much to do anything other than watch the loud explosions in amusement. Eventually the head boy confiscated the firecrackers (and immediately discovered that the Slytherin trio had also hexed them to go off if they were confiscated). They would definitely start the new year with plenty of negative points.

Deprived of their noisy source of fun, the Slytherin students resorted to debating what event had precipitated the sudden loss of Gryffindor house points. Not long before Christmas break, the students of Hogwarts had awoken to discover that Gryffindor's hourglass substantially emptier than the night before.

"Perhaps they discovered Arthur's porn stash," Francis suggested as he rubbed his beard.

"Wait, what?" Alfred asked. He found it hard to imagine that Arthur would be the sort to keep a stack of porn around. That sounded more like Francis. But it would be awesome if true, because Alfred secretly hoped that Arthur was as kinky as he seemed in the American's dreams.

Gilbert shook his head in disagreement. He had a much better explanation: "Kesesese, I bet some of the other students discovered his alcohol stash, got completely blitzed, and spent the night dancing in their lounge."

"No, Gilbert, that was us. Remember?" Antonio said with a fond smile. "Good times."

"Oh yeah, that was an awesome party."

The three boys eventually drifted into discussing their plans for the two-week winter break. Alfred tuned out, choosing to spend the time thinking about his own holiday plans. Being in Slytherin had honed Alfred's cunning to the point where he realized that Arthur was much nicer when it was just the two of them and they didn't have to worry about holding up their ends of the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry. With a bit of luck and mistletoe, he fully intended to get a Christmas kiss from Arthur.

Remembering that he was supposed to spend some time patrolling the train's corridors, Alfred waved goodbye to his housemates and went to find Arthur and Kiku's compartment. He walked along the train corridor, crossing from one train car to the next, checking the occupants of compartment after compartment filled with excited children. Everyone was looking forward to a relaxing break from classes, especially after the grueling mid-year tests just before Christmas.

Eventually, Alfred found the two people he was looking for. He paused outside the door to listen to a one-sided conversation. The American could see Kiku through the wavy glass, but Arthur was blocked from view. Alfred shamelessly eavesdropped, intrigued by snippets he could hear.

"They were furious when they found out, but I suspect they'll soon find a way to twist it to be my fault. With any luck I can avoid them at the train station, given all the people milling about," Arthur said with a quiet sigh. The American leaned closer, wondering who could be upsetting the other boy. Only Alfred was supposed to tease Arthur like that!

Kiku nodded. He brushed back his hair, suggesting that Arthur try a disguise.

The Gryffindor laughed. "It'd work better for you than for me, I'm afraid. Speaking of which... is Mei going to be at The Hedley Kow this year?" he asked.

For the first time since they met, Alfred saw Kiku blush. The Ravenclaw boy's eyes flickered to Alfred and he knew that he had been caught eavesdropping. Since there was no point to continuing to stand outside, he pushed open the door.

As he stepped in, the American kicked something on the ground. The object rolled across the floor to Arthur's feet. Alfred recognized it as one of the firecrackers the Slytherin trio had tried to set off earlier. He reached to pick it up, but Arthur grabbed it first.

"A damp squib," Arthur said as he flattened his lips into a line in an expression of distaste. Apparently the Gryffindor student didn't care for noisy firecrackers. Given his love of quiet and dislike of pranks, Alfred wasn't surprised.

The American shrugged. He sat down next to Arthur and reclaimed the firecracker. "Yeah, I guess it's a dud," he agreed, sticking it in his pocket to toss away later.

"You think that squibs are disappointments, don't you?" Arthur asked. "That's what they call the children of wizarding parents who can't do magic themselves. Squibs."

"Really? That seems kinda..." Alfred floundered as he tried to find the right words.

He had never really thought about the non-magical children of wizarding parents before because they were pretty rare. Most of them went to normal boarding schools so they could learn how to live outside the wizarding world. But it seemed wrong to call them 'squibs,' even though he couldn't explain why. Normally Alfred would have shrugged and given up, but Arthur's intense expression told him that this was important. After a few moments, the American finally said, "I dunno, it seems mean, 'cause you're saying they're failures. But not being able to do magic doesn't make you a _failure_."

Arthur chuckled. "An equalitarian Slytherin, who would have thought?"

"Yeah, I guess we're about as rare as Gryffindors who don't have a stick up their ass," the American retorted, slipping back into insult-mode to hide the sting he felt from Arthur's back-handed compliment. He would have thought that Arthur, out of anyone, would feel sympathy for squibs.

Kiku tugged Alfred's sleeve and pointed to his prefect badge, reminding the Slytherin that they were supposed to be patrolling the train corridors, instead of getting into fights with other prefects.

"Okay, okay," the American agreed as he stood up and left. It was probably for the best that the head boy had assigned him and Kiku to work together. If he were walking the corridors with Arthur they would spend more time squabbling than making sure that the students weren't getting into trouble. Francis called it unresolved sexual tension and Alfred suspected that he was right.

Kiku led the way up and down the hallway. They prevented two students from engaging in a wizard's duel in the train corridor, fixed a broken set of spectacles caused by falling books, and tried to hide their chuckles as some first-years discovered a particularly nasty flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. (This was why Alfred stuck to skittles—he liked colorful candy that reliably tasted like pure sugar.)

Near the end of the train, they discovered a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor arguing over a toad. Each insisted that they owned the amphibian, even when placed under the Veritas charm. For some reason, they both believed that the toad belonged to them.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head and turned to Kiku for advice. The Ravenclaw made a chopping motion with his hand and pantomimed giving each student half of the toad. Alfred nodded eagerly. "That's a great idea! You two can split the frog."

"Are you _insane_?" the Hufflepuff girl asked with bulging eyes. "You can't do that!"

"I think it's fair," the other girl replied.

Kiku plopped the animal into the Hufflepuff's hands and turned to leave. The American tried to figure out how Kiku suddenly realized it was her pet, and then he decided that it really didn't matter if it was hers, since she would clearly be the better owner.

"Dude, that was clever," Alfred said as he caught up with the other Prefect.

Kiku grinned slightly and shrugged modestly.

"No, seriously. It was." Alfred bit his lip and asked quietly, "Do you think you could help mesolve a problem?"

The Ravenclaw nodded. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. He had spent some time trying to come up with a plan to kiss Arthur over Christmas break, but he couldn't decide what was the better plan. He wanted something that gave him plausible deniability in case the Gryffindor wasn't interested. First, he thought about setting up mistletoe and then 'conveniently' meeting Arthur under the plant. But he also tempted to try standing next to Arthur on New Year's Eve and kissing him at midnight. Alcohol was also an option, but only as a last resort, since Alfred wouldn't be able to use his broomstick to carry Arthur home from a crowded London pub.

"So... I've got this... friend, and he wants to kiss someone over break. He's pretty sure the other guy likes him back, but he's not 100% and I don't want to upset the apple cart if Ar... the other guy's not interested. I've been thinking about what works in the movies. Do you think it's better to use mistletoe or the midnight kiss on New Year's?"

The Ravenclaw shook his head and held up three fingers.

"Wait, what's the third option?" Alfred asked, scrunching up his face in confusion.

"The third option is probably to tell 'him' to talk over 'his' relationship like an adult," Arthur said calmly. Alfred spun around to face the other boy, trying to figure out when he had snuck up behind them. The American was very glad he had given his question in the form of a hypothetical. He would die of embarrassment if Arthur knew he was such a sap.

The sandy-haired Gryffindor turned to face Kiku and handed the Ravenclaw Prefect a toad. "This was hopping around in the corridors, looking rather confused. Do you think you could find the proper owner?"

Kiku nodded and walked away, leaving Alfred to face Arthur in an uncomfortable silence. The American couldn't tell if the other boy was still annoyed that he had called him a tight-ass. He wondered why he was so focused on Arthur's ass. (Well, he didn't _really_ wonder. It was a very nice ass.)

Alfred followed Arthur back to his compartment, sneaking glances at the Gryffindor's sexy behind on the short walk. He was glad that Arthur had already changed out of his robes and into street clothes. He hoped that he would have a lot of opportunities to admire Arthur's ass as they walked around London. To be honest, Alfred probably wasn't going to pay any attention to the city itself.

As the walked into the compartment, Arthur waited until Alfred took a seat, then he pulled down the blinds and closed the door. The Gryffindor remained standing, wearing a serious expression on his face when he turned to face the American. "We should probably get a few things straight before we disembark," Arthur said quietly. "I wasn't certain if this was a good idea before, but now..."

The Gryffindor glanced at the window, trying to come to a decision. For once, the American managed to sit silently, waiting for Arthur to finish. He cringed inwardly, certain that Arthur was going to cancel on him. He really wanted Arthur to come, but he wasn't sure how to convince the Brit.

Arthur nodded to himself and turned back to face the Slytherin. He took the seat next to Alfred and said softly, "...well, I've heard your plans for mistletoe and New Year's kisses, and Mr. Jones, I think you're trying to seduce me."

Alfred laughed out of sheer relief that Arthur wasn't canceling their winter break plans, which was apparently the wrong response.

Arthur's face fell. "Aren't you?"

"No, of course not!" the American protested, offended by the suggestion. "I was definitely going to buy you dinner first!"

Alfred blushed when he realized what he had just blurted out. He opened his mouth and tried to think of a way to turn it into a joke, but his words were cut off by Arthur's lips on his and any further thoughts were cut off as heat and excitement spread down his body. Later he would describe their first kiss as passionate and sensual, but in the moment, the kiss didn't feel like something that could be explained with words. It felt like tumbling off a ship into the ocean and discovering that he could breathe underwater. It felt like the times he dreamed of being able to fly without a broomstick.

But it was real. And it was better than any dream.

The train curved around a bend and the momentum caused the American to slide to a horizontal position with his back against the seat, leaving Arthur perched precariously above him as they continued their hungry kisses. Alfred felt a frisson of shock and delight as the older boy slipped a tongue into his mouth and began a gentle massage.

Alfred had lifted the other boy's shirt halfway up his chest before he even realized what he was doing. He came to his senses as a slight change in speed sent them tumbling to the floor. The American landed on his side facing Arthur, immensely glad that he hadn't landed on top of the smaller boy. Apparently the seats on the Hogwarts Express weren't designed to accommodate the adventures of horny teenagers.

"Wow," Alfred murmured. He smiled as he took in Arthur's face, pleased that _he_ was the one who had made the other boy so flushed.

"Mmm," Arthur agreed, equally breathless.

The picked themselves off the floor and sat together with their knees brushing against each other. Arthur pulled his shirt back down, but not before Alfred enjoyed the sight of his lean abs. Alfred wanted to pick up where they had left off, but he had a feeling that if they went much further, they would end up having sex and making a mess on the train compartment. He didn't know if the Hogwarts professors had spells to identify sexual fluids, but he didn't want to risk it.

"We should... um, later," the American said inelegantly. His mind was still nearly as muddled as his hair.

Arthur sighed. "That's probably a good idea," he said, although he didn't look like he really meant it. Alfred grinned and bumped his shoulder. The physical contact felt good, even if it wasn't as much as he wanted.

Kiku rejoined them several minutes later and Alfred suspected that the Ravenclaw boy knew what they had been doing. He wondered if bussing on the train was the third option the other boy had in mind, but he had to admit that kissing before they even arrived in London was a great idea because it left them with many more opportunities to make out over break. With any luck, his parents would visit most of London and give him some quality alone time with Arthur.

"So what did you want to do over break?" Alfred asked Arthur.

"I've prepared a list," Arthur replied, standing up and stretching to pull it out from his suitcase, causing his shirt to ride up. Alfred enjoyed the sliver of exposed skin and mourned its loss when Arthur sat back down.

Alfred accepted the piece of paper and read off the first few items. "British Museum. National Gallery. Westminster." He looked up at Arthur. "This list looks great..."

The Gryffindor smiled back, which faded when Alfred added, "...for my parents. Come on, we need to do something fun!"

Arthur crossed his arms. "What did you have in mind?"

"Ooh, let's see a movie, eat fast food, and get ice cream! Then we should test-ride the latest broomstick models. I heard a new iBolt just came out." Alfred bounced on the seat, eager to try new broomsticks. He liked to upgrade at least once a year. Arthur looked less than thrilled by his suggestions, so Alfred offered an olive branch. "We could also get tea. They serve awesome snacks with it, right?"

The Gryffindor student nodded. "Yes, but I thought you don't like scones?"

Alfred grinned. "No, I don't like _your_ scones. I'm sure regular ones are delicious."

"You are such a prat."

Alfred stuck out his tongue and then laughed as Kiku rolled his eyes. The two bickered a while and then spent an enjoyable hour comparing their favorite movies. Arthur loved the classics while the American preferred horror and westerns.

The American glanced out the window and noticed the outskirts of London coming into view as the countryside grew rapidly more populated. He stood up to leave. "I need to grab my stuff and say 'bye to Madeleine. I'll meet you on the non-magical side of the platform!"

* * *

Arthur thought he had succeeded in avoiding his aunt, uncle, and cousin on the train platform, but he found them waiting for him on the muggle side. Arthur forced a smile as they approached. As much as he disliked his relatives, he was too much of a gentleman to snub them on the platform. Plus, he would likely end up in trouble with the Ministry if he decided to hex them with all of the muggles around.

His aunt smiled back—equally fake. He knew she only wore the expression for the sake of the nearby onlookers. Her voice was soft and saccharine. "Oh, Arthur. Goodness, I was worried you would slip off before we had a chance to see you. Are you sure you don't want to spend Christmas with us?"

"Quite."

"Mum, I want to go," Peter whined.

"Just a second, dear," She said, before turning back to face the older boy. "Arthur, I was so sorry to hear about the unfortunate incident. I do hope this will cover the cost of a replacement." She offered up a small bag of coins, shaking it slightly so Arthur could hear the clinking of the coins inside.

Arthur clenched his fists, his knuckles almost completely white from his tight grip on his suitcase. "It wasn't an accident," he said through gritted teeth. "And you can't just make it vanish with money."

"Listen boy, be sensible, this will more than cover a new broom," his uncle added.

Arthur jumped slightly as a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He jerked his head to the side and his surprised gaze met Alfred's grin. The American winked—his way of asking Arthur to trust him. The taller boy stepped forward, slightly placing himself between Arthur and his relatives. He took the coin pouch and said in a warm southern drawl, "This will definitely cover a new broomstick, Mr. Kirkland, and we were planning to go looking at the new ones tomorrow, weren't we Arthur?"

The English boy blinked, pleasantly surprised by Alfred's accent. It was soft and kind and left him a little weak in the knees. He suddenly understood why people could find other accents so unbelievably sexy.

Alfred didn't wait for Arthur's reply. Instead he barreled forward with the conversation. "Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland it was a real pleasure to meet you. I hope you have a Merry Christmas!" he drawled as he stuffed the coin pouch into Arthur's jacket. The American lifted his suitcase with one hand and propelled the shorter boy forward with the other.

Still torn between the desire to yell at Alfred for his interference or kiss him because of his sexy drawl, Arthur didn't resist as they continued to walk through King's Cross station. Unfortunately, they were in public, which put a crimp in either plan.

That meant the first order of business was making their way to the Victorian-style rowhouse where they would meet Alfred's parents. The American had explained that his parents were borrowing a house from a wizarding family that liked to travel to the Spanish Riviera for the winter. They couldn't apparate there, since he had never been there before, so they would have to take the underground.

Arthur stopped by a vending machine and purchased two sets of tickets for the tube. Alfred shuffled next to him, unnerved by the long silence.

"Hey, Artie, I get it if you're mad, but you _do_ need a new broom. No reason to turn down free money just 'cause you don't like your relatives."

Arthur shook his head and frowned as he handed Alfred a ticket and led the way down the stairs to the tube entrance. "You don't get it, do you? It was blood money. Peter was the one who hexed the broom."

"What?!" The American gaped. "Shit, I can't punch an 11-year old."

"He turned 12 in September."

The taller boy bit his lip, briefly considered it, then shook his head. "Nah, that's still too young."

"Just as well you don't. It wasn't completely intentional. He meant to slow the broom down a bit, but the hex ended up causing more damage than he thought. Don't get me wrong, I'm still angry at him, but I've punished him already."

"The big loss of Gryffindor points?"

Arthur nodded. The two boys stopped talking as they entered the crush of people entering the tube. Nearly any conversation could be explained by claiming that it was about a video game, but there was no point in needlessly raising suspicions.

They rode north a few stations and got off on Holloway Road. Arthur led the way to a road that didn't appear on muggle maps. At first the rowhouses looked the same as any other, but a few differences eventually revealed himself. These houses had open attic windows to let in owls and broom racks in the front for visitors. Alfred bounced up to the right house and used a special unlocking charm to open the door.

They each picked bedrooms and Arthur came to a decision. His aunt and uncle seemed nice to the unwary, so he wanted Alfred to understand why he hated his relatives. For better or worse, the American seemed intent on slithering his way into Arthur's life, but he really had no idea what he was dealing with. Arthur wanted the other boy to understand why he could be such a grouch sometimes.

"My parents aren't going to arrive for a few hours. You want to get burgers?" Alfred asked as he popped his head into Arthur's room.

Arthur shrugged. "Fast food sounds fine, but there's somewhere I want to go first."

The English boy packed away his final pieces of clothing and then offered his arm to Alfred. _Destination, determination, and deliberation_ , he thought to himself. Within seconds they disappeared. The world twisted and stretched, creating an unsettled feeling that made him glad he had an empty stomach. The world returned to normal as they arrived at their destination. Arthur glanced at the American to make sure he was alright. Alfred looked a little nauseous, but otherwise fine.

"Is this a cemetery?" Alfred asked with a small shiver. He stepped closer to Arthur. He was still holding Arthur's arm, but Arthur found he didn't mind. It was actually a bit comforting, given their destination. The English boy used his wand to summon a wreath, and placed it next to the closest headstone.

"Your parents?" the American asked hesitantly as he read the names on the gravestone. They shared the name Kirkland and the date of death was ten years prior.

Arthur's breath created a small mist in the cold air. He closed his eyes. "They died in a car accident when I was seven. They were going to visit mum's parents in the hospice and I didn't want to go along because I thought old people smelled funny. Afterwards... well, I couldn't stay with my grandparents, they were too sick to take care of me. So I hopped from foster family to foster family. I think all of them knew that there was something a little strange about me."

He felt Alfred reach for his hand. "I'm sorry," the American murmured.

"Then when I was eleven, I received the most exciting letter of my life inviting me to Hogwarts. The family I was with thought it was a joke, so I ran away without letting them know. Someone recognized the Kirkland name—said it was an old wizarding family—and I thought that they might be distant relatives."

Arthur remembered the thrill of excitement when he first learned that he had relatives. He wanted a family to live with permanently, especially since wizards wouldn't think him strange for talking to fairies. He was bitterly disappointed.

"I sent a letter," Arthur continued. "They came out to meet me. They were so happy. I didn't understand it then, but they weren't happy to _find_ me, they were happy that I was a wizard. My father had been a squib. His family threw him out and forgot all about him. They didn't care when he got married. They didn't care when he had a son. And they certainly didn't care when he died. All they cared was that _I_ was a wizard, because it proved that their blood was pure."

"God, they sound like such... prats!" Alfred said heatedly.

Despite the cold and the time-worn sadness he felt each time he visited his parents' grave, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. He wished his parents a silent farewell and then led the American to the street. If he remembered correctly there was a Fine Burger Company not too far away. If he was going to eat hamburgers, they would at least be gourmet ones from an English chain.

"You still have no idea what a prat is, do you?" Arthur asked.

"Something bad?" Alfred guessed.

"It means a fool."

Alfred huffed. "All this time I thought it meant something really terrible and you've just been saying that I'm an _idiot_?" he complained.

"Rather proves the point, doesn't it?"

Alfred acted upset, but after a few hamburgers he forgave Arthur. They ate and talked and laughed, and even though Arthur felt a pang of loneliness knowing that he would be spending Christmastime with Alfred's parents instead of his own, he thought it would be a lovely winter break. He frowned as he touched the coins in his jacket pocket and reminded himself to send an owl post later that evening.

* * *

_Dear Aunt and Uncle,_

_Thank you for the gold, but don't think that I've forgiven you._

_Arthur_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter answers some questions about Arthur and why he's touchy about certain subjects (purebloods, mudbloods, squibs, his relatives, etc). Also, in case you're wondering about Madeleine, I didn't forget her! She just spent the chapter chillin' with her Hufflepuff friends.


	8. Xmas Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's mother loves telling embarrassing stories.

Holiday breaks were the best because Alfred could finally sleep in as long as he wanted. Just before noon, he finally rolled out of bed. Still yawning, he made his way to the kitchen hoping for coffee and breakfast.

As Alfred rounded the corner he saw his mom and Arthur chatting at the kitchen table.

"...until he was about five. We had to buy so much of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover that the local store ordered a crate per year just for us," she said with a light chuckle. "I've never found a muggle product that works half as well."

"What's for breakfast?" Alfred asked, giving his mother a quick hug before he made a beeline for the pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup, adding plenty of cream and sugar.

His mother glanced up and smiled. "There are some cinnamon rolls next to the stove," she said, pointing to the food and the cupboard with the plates. She turned back to Arthur and continued her story after taking a sip of coffee. "When he finally stopped, we used all of the money we saved on stain remover to buy him a broomstick."

Alfred paled and nearly dropped his cup, realizing that his mother had been telling Arthur about his bed-wetting as a child. The stain remover was used to clean the sheets and they really had purchased a broomstick to celebrate when he finally stopped.

"Mom!" he shouted as he blushed, deeply embarrassed to have that information shared with his rival/crush/maybe-sorta-boyfriend (they really needed to have a talk about their kiss and what it meant). Neither his mother nor Arthur even look ashamed. In fact, Arthur looked like he was trying to hold back laughter and Alfred's mother just smiled in her usual endearing, but slightly clueless, way.

"Oh, don't be upset, Alfie," she said. "Arthur saw me using a cellphone and he wanted to know if I thought that muggle technology was better than magic. I think it is for many things. But I've never found a muggle cleaning solution as good as Mrs. Skower's."

Alfred sighed and sat down, realizing that he would need to keep Arthur away from his mother if he didn't want his rival/crush/whatever to know every single embarrassing moment of Alfred's childhood. And there were quite a lot of them.

"So what are you two planning for today?" his mother asked. "Your father and I want a day to recuperate from the jet lag."

"We're going to look at the latest models of broomsticks!" Alfred said excitedly. He couldn't wait to take them out for a test ride, even if it was cold outside.

"Well, sweetie, be sure you don't get stuck in a tree," she advised Alfred. She then turned and smiled at Arthur. "He did that when he was seven. I still don't know how he managed to lose his broom and end up on tree branch instead."

"Thanks for the rolls we're gonna go look at brooms now bye Mom!" Alfred said, quickly dragging Arthur away before his mother could share any more childhood stories. He wondered if he could convince the Gryffindor boy to drink a memory-erase potion so that he'd forget everything he had heard that morning. Judging by the sly grin on Arthur's face, it seemed unlikely. This called for a distraction.

Alfred pulled Arthur into his bedroom and shut the door. The American stepped forward and placed one hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's expression softened and he tilted his head slightly upward, giving Alfred permission to plant a kiss directly on his lips.

The kiss was a tiny spark that lit the fuse, and suddenly Alfred couldn't get enough of Arthur—his soft lips, smooth neck, warm hands; the jut of his hipbone along the edge of his pants; the throaty murmurs as they stumbled together to the bed.

Alfred let the other boy press him down onto the mattress. Arthur straddled his lap, the same way he had on the Hogwarts Express, but this time they didn't have to worry about the bed shaking underneath them—or at least, that the bed would start to shake independently of their own activities.

"Perhaps we shouldn't do this on your bed, you might wet it," Arthur said teasingly before he bent forward to continue their kissing.

Alfred pushed him off, not forcefully, but enough to let Arthur know he wasn't happy.

"Hey, I was _five_. And if we want to talk about embarrassing crap, what about that time you fainted while trying to kiss me?" he said, crossing his arms. If they were going to share embarrassing stories, he wasn't going to hold back.

Arthur flushed. "I was _drunk_. I passed out." He sighed. "Look, don't be mad. The stories your mother shared were rather cute. You must have been an adorable child."

"Well, you were an adorable drunk," Alfred retorted.

The English boy blinked in confusion. "I... uh... thanks?"

They both averted their gazes, choosing to study the really interesting shade of beige paint used on the walls. Even Alfred, with his limited ability to sense the mood, could tell that their impromptu make-out session had become five kinds of awkward. He considered just kissing Arthur again, since that seemed to take care of their short-term problems, but he still didn't really understand what the other boy thought of him, other than the fact that he apparently found the American very kissable.

Alfred pouted. He liked Arthur, but the Gryffindor seemed to have a low opinion of _him_ judging by Arthur's drunken rant about disliking handsome jerks. He doubted that a few childhood stories would change that. The American stood up and pulled on his jacket. He turned back to face Arthur, who was watching him with a guarded look.

"So now that I'm grown up do you think I'm just a sexy jerk?" the American asked. He laughed a little to make it seem like a joke.

Arthur rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. He brushed off a piece of lint from the Slytherin's jacket before responding. "No. You're a moderately attractive narcissist who enjoys fishing for compliments. And for the record, you're not done growing up. Your tea cup predicted a couple more inches."

"Really? You can tell that from a tea cup?" Alfred asked incredulously.

Arthur shrugged. "I told you I was good at tessomancy."

* * *

The mood was effectively ruined, so Arthur decided that they might as well look at new broomsticks. It turned out to be a rather pleasant experience. Seeing Alfred in a broomstick store was like watching a kid in a candy shop. Alfred hopped from broom to broom (occasionally in mid-air), insisting that he had to try them all. Arthur couldn't decide whether to watch Alfred with an indulgent smile or pretend that he didn't know the other teenager. He settled for smiling indulgently when no one else was looking.

"Watch this, watch this!" Alfred called as he sped directly upward and then flew upside down all the glass dome of the shop. The store was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside thanks to magic. In addition to rows and rows of broomsticks, it also had a large atrium so that people could test the merchandise no matter the weather outside. (And given that it was London, the weather was often chilly or damp.) Alfred zipped dramatically around the other store patrons and came to a sudden halt only inches away from Arthur.

Arthur shrugged apologetically as he caught the shopowner's disapproving stare.

"Alfred, do stop playing around or we'll get kicked out before I find a new broom," he warned.

The American sighed, but dismounted. He continued to eye the new brooms longingly, caressing the wooden handles with light touches. Perhaps Arthur just had a dirty mind, but the soft strokes looked a little bit naughty. A few completely inappropriate pick-up lines flashed through his mind.

_Would you like to ride my broomstick? I've got the best sort of wood._

"Can I help you find something, boys?" the shopowner asked, pulling Arthur away from his pleasant thoughts. She smiled, but Arthur could tell that she wanted them to leave if they didn't plan to buy something.

He nodded. "I'm looking for the Cleansweap Twelve, ma'am," he said politely.

"Oh, excellent choice! Most young people just want the newest, flashiest brooms," she gave Alfred a hard look, "but the Cleansweeps are a good, dependable model that will keep you flying year after year. The stick shift takes a little more skill to fly, but in the hands of a skilled young witch or wizard, they're amazing brooms."

After delivering her sales pitch, she pulled out a broom from beneath the shop counter and handed it to Arthur. He examined it and then reached for his coin pouch.

"Don't you want to try it out?" Alfred asked.

Arthur shook his head. "It's bad luck to fly a broom before its first game."

The shopkeeper smiled. "I'm glad to hear that some people still keep up the old Quidditch traditions. Which team do you play for?"

"Gryffindor," Arthur replied proudly.

Her eyes lit up. "You must be Arthur Kirkland! I knew I recognized those eyebrows somewhere. Your parents came in two months ago to get a broom customized for your brother. Peter, right?"

Arthur's smile dimmed. "Those were my aunt and uncle, actually."

"Well, you've done a jolly good job as seeker. I was in Gryffindor myself back in the day and I still read about all the games. This last season has been rather exciting, hasn't it? I can't wait for the final Slytherin/Gryffindor match. But you should watch out for the Slytherin seeker—he sounds like a sneaky one."

"I will definitely keep that in mind," Arthur deadpanned.

She patted his hand. "Poor dear, having to buy a new broom after those Slytherins hexed yours. Well, don't worry, love, I always give a discount to Gryffindor Quidditch players." She accepted a few galleons from Arthur, but gave most of them back. Arthur thanked her and carried his new purchase from the store.

It took a few steps before Arthur realized that he was walking by himself. He glanced back and saw Alfred trudging behind him with a downcast expression.

Arthur realized that the Slytherin wasn't upset by the fact that he wasn't going to get a discount on a broomstick. He was upset that people thought he was a cheater and a sneak. Beneath his brash and jovial exterior, Arthur was beginning to suspect that Alfred harbored a number of deep insecurities. He felt a pang of guilt for his own role in accusing the Slytherin of misconduct.

He knew exactly what would cheer up the other boy, however. Food. Specifically, good English cooking. Five minutes later, they were sitting in a booth at a wizarding cafe with two mince pies, a hot tea for Arthur and a cup of cocoa for Alfred. Alfred looked at the pie dubiously.

"It's got meat in it?" he asked.

Arthur laughed. "No, these pies are just minced up fruit. And it's traditional to make a wish when you eat the first pie of the season." He took a relaxing sip of tea, and then offered a final piece of advice: "Oh, remember to eat the pie silently or your wish won't come true."

Alfred nodded eagerly and they both lifted their mince pies. The American closed his eyes and then took a bite. He mmm-ed in appreciation and quickly devoured the rest of the pie. Arthur finished his at a more sedate pace and as he slowly chewed he wished for good scores on his NEWTs, success in Quidditch, and an opportunity for some uninterrupted snogging with the cute American sitting across from him.

After they finished their pies, they continued to sip their tea and cocoa in comfortable silence. When Arthur finished his first cup of tea, Alfred stole it away with a grin.

"I'm going to read your fortune, to see if the pie worked," the American announced, before peering into the cup.

"I thought you were bad at divination?" Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, you've definitely got a cat and a squiggle here... so that means you're going to get a cat as a pet and then play with it with a bit of string!" Alfred grinned happily, pleased by the fortune. "Did you wish for a pet cat?"

Arthur chuckled. "I see why you're not very good at divination. You're far too literal. The cat doesn't mean an actual cat, the symbol stands for a treacherous friend."

Alfred frowned. "Oh. What about the squiggle?"

Arthur sucked his teeth, pondering the potential symbols. "Well, wavy lines in general mean an uncertain path. But given the cat... maybe it's a dragon? That means unforeseen trouble. Or a corkscrew is curiosity causing trouble."

Alfred frowned. "Wow, those all sound really negative. How come divination is filled with negative symbols?" He handed back the tea cup. "I think you need to keep drinking until you get a better fortune."

"It doesn't work that way," Arthur said with a chuckle. He accepted the cup and filled it again from the teapot. Despite the negative fortune, he was feeling quite cheerful. First, given the American's self-admitted limitations in divination, he doubted that the fortune was accurate. Second, Arthur had spent the past four months feeling like he wanted something he couldn't have (Alfred) or that what he wanted wasn't good for him (because Alfred was a Slytherin), but now he could see that what he wanted was right within his reach and his for the taking. Arthur had always believed in self-fulfilling prophecies, so he carefully slipped off his shoe and tapped Alfred's foot. The American blinked at him and the grinned. Taking that as his cue, the Gryffindor lightly touched Alfred's ankle with his toes and then gently caressed the other boy's leg.

The American giggle a bit—apparently he was _very_ ticklish—and Arthur smiled. He wondered if Alfred was ticklish everywhere and made a mental note to find out. There was a great deal he wanted to find out about the other boy, starting with something that had confused Arthur from the very first day of school: why Alfred was in Slytherin.

"You shouldn't let it get you down when people call Slytherins sneaky," the Gryffindor said softly. "I'm afraid they go a little overboard on school rivalry."

"Yeah, I had no idea," Alfred said, shaking his head ruefully. "I just researched Quidditch teams." He slipped off his own shoes and began rubbing his foot against Arthur's leg, carefully lifting up Arthur's trousers and touching Arthur's leg directly with his soft woolen socks. Arthur focused on keeping his expression calm. The thrill and challenge of playing footsie was in maintaining a normal conversation above-table.

"You've never read Hogwarts: An Updated History?" Arthur asked, pleased that his voice sounded so calm. He took a small sip of tea. It suddenly made sense why Slytherin had so many international students—they knew less of the house's dark history.

Alfred shrugged. "Just the sections on the Quidditch teams. That really helped me decide which house I wanted, 'cause I didn't think I had a chance of being seeker for Gryffindor. And could you see me in Ravenclaw?"

"You've got the specs for it," Arthur replied, carefully hiding his shock as he realized that _he_ was the reason Alfred had chosen Slytherin. It was almost sad. Their status as rivals had brought them in constant contact, but it had also proven a source of major tension between them. Oh well, sometimes friction was enjoyable. He refocused on the topic at hand and asked, "What about Hufflepuff?"

"Huffle-who?" Alfred laughed. "No really, I like the 'puffs, but they haven't had a decent Quidditch team in years."

Arthur nearly dropped his tea cup as he felt Alfred's foot stroke his thigh. The American had the audacity to just grin at him across the table. Apparently he played footsie as aggressively as he played everything else.

"Well, I think you would have made a top-notch beater on the Gryffindor team," Arthur said, and he meant it. The American was fast on a broomstick, but he was a bit too tall and bulky for the Seeker position already. He would excel as a beater, however, since that position called for stamina and strength.

"You want me batting for the same team?" Alfred replied as he waggled his eyebrows. He gave Arthur a deliciously cocky look and then sipped his hot cocoa. As the American lowered the cup, Arthur noticed a bit of whipped cream still on his upper lip. The English boy felt like a cat that absolutely _had_ to have a bit of cream. He reached across the table, wiped off the cream, and then licked his finger. The shocked (and slightly turned on) look on Alfred's face was completely worth it.

Alfred sucked in a breath. He opened his mouth—clearly ready to ask a question—but instead of speaking, he took another sip of his cocoa. This time, he left even more whipped cream on his upper lip. Enough that Arthur knew it _had_ to be intentional.

"What is it, Alfred?" Arthur asked gently, as he once again transferred the dollop of cream to his own mouth with a smooth flick of his finger. Arthur was expecting a request to go back to Alfred's bedroom so they could pick up where they left off. The American surprised him, however.

"Do you want to go out to dinner with me... and a movie... on a date?" he asked hesitantly, his voice a pleasant mix of hopeful and bashful. Arthur didn't know how anyone could say no. Especially when he already fancied him something fierce.

Arthur smiled and cocked his head to the side. "What do you call this then? I'm pretty sure that going out for afternoon tea at a wizarding café counts as a date by anyone's standard. We're playing footsie under table, for heaven's sake!"

"The first rule of footsie is you don't talk about footsie," the American quickly replied. Then he grinningly amended his question, "How about a second date, then?"

Arthur grinned.

"That would be lovely."

* * *

Arthur made the mistake of letting Alfred pick the movie.

The American had chosen horror (the most recent version of some series called 'Paranormal Activity') and just the previews left Alfred a quivering mess, clutching Arthur's arm until he had almost cut off all blood circulation.

The film started slowly—just normal people living a normal life. Arthur could tell it wouldn't end well for the main characters. Indeed, a malignant force began to slowly rip apart their lives.

Alfred whimpered.

"Are you sure you don't want to watch the comedy instead?" Arthur whispered.

"Hahaha. No. I can handle this. Oh-god-what's-happening-now?" the American moaned as he practically jumped into Arthur's lap.

Arthur stretched his arm across Alfred's shoulders and pulled the other boy close. He felt the American relax in his grip, even if Alfred continued to cover his eyes for most of the film. It was alright—Arthur enjoyed the movie's moments of genuine fright, and he felt warm and protective with the other boy tightly gripping his hand.

Perhaps a horror movie wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

Arthur heard the floor creaking next to his bed. He blurrily opened his eyes and saw Alfred standing next to his bed... just standing there, watching him sleep. Arthur wanted to ask what the other boy was doing, but found that he couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He was trapped as Alfred stared at him unblinkingly. Arthur began to sense a presence in the other boy's eyes. He felt his heart pounding as he desperately tried to shout. He struggled to move even a finger, but he was completely, hopelessly paralyzed.

He woke up with a gasp, still sweating from his nightmare. He realized he had been startled awake by the sound of knocking on the door. Despite the terrible verisimilitude of his dream, there was no one else in his room. Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to calm down.

"Hey, Arthur? Are you awake?" he could hear Alfred asking outside the door.

"I am now," Arthur retorted, his voice still somewhat shaken from his dream. He walked to the door and opened it.

Alfred slipped in, clutching a pillow in his hands like it was his only source of comfort in the world. "Can I stay here with you?" he asked desperately. From his frightened expression, it was clear that Alfred had spent the past few hours huddled in his room, jumping at every noise. Given the way the young man had reacted to the movie, Arthur wasn't surprised.

"You really are a scaredy-cat, aren't you?" Arthur asked, although he found it hard to give his words much bite. Alfred's fearful expression and mussed hair made Arthur want to wrap the poor boy in his arms and protect him from the ghosts in his head.

"O-of course n-not," Alfred replied unconvincingly.

"Really?" Arthur stomped his foot on the ground, causing Alfred to yelp and jump under the duvet. Arthur watched the lump shiver and didn't have the heart to kick Alfred out of the bed. (Especially since a part of him had wanted to get Alfred _in_ bed from the very first moment they met. Not quite like this, but he would take what he could get.)

Arthur laid back down on the other side of the mattress and advised Alfred to just go to sleep. Alfred sighed and wrapped his arms around Arthur like the other boy was his own personal teddy bear. Arthur tensed and debated protesting, but there was something comforting about the sound of Alfred's breathing and the warmth of his body. He gave in to the inevitable and allowed himself to be cuddled like a teddy bear. Arthur fell asleep and suffered no more nightmares.

* * *

Sometime during the night, Alfred stole all the sheets.

* * *

Arthur woke up with cold feet. Grumbling, he pulled the duvet away from the American. Instead of relinquishing the blanket, Alfred rolled with it and half-sprawled across Arthur. The English boy used his cold feet to his advantage, pressing them against the other boy's legs and causing him to wake up.

The sight of Alfred's blue eyes, still fogged with sleep, created a small pool of warmth in Arthur's stomach. The young man's messy blond hair rivaled Arthur's own. In the soft morning light, he looked like an angel who had fallen to Earth. Arthur didn't _want_ to, but he couldn't help but forgive the other boy for being an inconsiderate bedmate and stealing all the sheets.

"Your feet are freezing," Alfred mumbled, acting completely innocent.

"Whose fault is that, hmm?" Arthur retorted. Their feet lay tangled together and Arthur already felt considerably warmer. He should have prodded the American with his cold feet hours ago.

If Alfred was going to be an unrepentant sheet-thief, he was at least considerate enough to cast off heat like a small furnace. Arthur decided that next time he would be sure to have his own blanket, recognizing that it was a little odd that he simply assumed there would be a next time.

Still only half-awake, the American lifted his head to look at the clock on the nightstand and then plopped back onto his pillow. "It's not even ten," Alfred murmured. The young man sighed. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"What happens when we go back to Hogwarts? Can we still be... I don't know?"

Arthur understood what the other boy meant. He still wasn't quite sure how to classify their relationship, but whatever they called it, he could tell that a non-rival relationship would be next to impossible to manage as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Even a simple friendship would bring a number of stares, particularly given their positions on the Quidditch team.

He shrugged, realizing there was little they could do other than keep it secret. "I don't think it'd look right to be dating my rival on the other team. But we could meet up in secret. Some secluded corner with minimal lighting."

"What about ghosts?" Alfred asked anxiously.

"No ghosts," Arthur promised.

"Good," the American replied drowsily. His eyes fluttered shut and Arthur could tell from his soft breathing that Alfred had fallen back to sleep.

Arthur gave in to temptation and snuggled closer to Alfred. Though he rarely had a chance to enjoy it at Hogwarts, Arthur liked the sensation of lying half-awake in a warm bed. It was the best time of the day to simply let his thoughts wander.

The voice of Alfred's mother pulled Arthur out of his half-doze.

"Alfie! Time to get up or we're miss the changing of the guard," she called. She sounded like she was close. "George, have you seen Alfie?" she added after a few moments.

"Have you checked Arthur's room?" he responded.

Arthur felt a moment of panic. He stumbled out of bed and hurriedly pulled on a jumper just before Alfred's mother opened the door. She peered in and smiled.

The words tumbled out of Arthur's mouth: "This isn't what it looks like."

"Don't worry, dear. I know how Alfred can get after watching a scary movie," she patted Arthur's shoulder. He smiled back at her nervously, wondering if they should also be keeping their relationship secret from Alfred's parents.

" _Mom_. Five more minutes," Alfred muttered from his cocoon of sheets.

"You know, Alfie nearly missed his first day of school at the Salem Institute because he wanted to sleep in. I had to levitate him out of bed."

"Okay, okay!" Alfred cried, pulling himself out of bed. "I'm up. You can stop telling embarrassing stories now."

She laughed cheerfully. "Oh, that one wasn't even embarrassing. Arthur, dear, I've boiled some water for you."

"Thank you," Arthur responded politely as he followed her to the kitchen.

"If you want embarrassing, let me tell you about the time he split his pants at his first school Quidditch game when he lunged to catch the snitch..." she said, launching in to her next story as they walked along the hallway.

Alfred pulled on his clothes in record time and raced after them. They made it to see the changing of the guard, but Alfred spent the rest of Christmas break trying to stop his mother from sharing stories.

* * *

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Jones,_

_Thank you for the lovely invitation to spend time with you over the holidays. I had a wonderful time, though I am terribly sorry about the goose. I really don't understand what happened in the kitchen. I will definitely keep in mind your invitation for next year._

_Sincerely,_ _  
_Arthur_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was looking up details on mince pies and I came across this gem of a quote from a Puritan settler (remember that the Puritans hated Christmas): "All Plums the Prophets Sons defy, And Spice-broths are too hot; Treason's in a December-Pye, And Death within the Pot." Reminding us once again that Puritans are where fun goes to die :)


	9. Two-Faced Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Arthur discover the difficulty of keeping their relationship secret.

Secret relationships were serious business.

Alfred spotted Arthur in the hallway not long after they returned to classes at Hogwarts. He resisted the urge to wave at the other boy and shout hello. Grabbing Arthur's hand and kissing him was also completely out of the question, as tempting as it was.

The American desperately tried to remember how he was supposed to act so that other students wouldn't suspect that the two Quidditch rivals were secretly dating. What he needed was a suitably scathing insult, but he kept getting distracted by thoughts of how much he wanted to just ravish Arthur in the corridor and forget the insults.

"Hey, Kirkland, heard you got a new broomstick," he managed as he crossed paths with Arthur. It wasn't actually an insult, but he said it in a suitably taunting tone, and that was what really mattered.

Arthur smirked as he sauntered past. "Don't worry, Jones. I'll be sure to fly slowly so you can keep up."

The Gryffindor kept walking, leaving Alfred in his wake. Alfred sought a comeback to shout before Arthur was out of earshot, but all he could think of was 'your robes do nothing to show off your ass' and even he could tell that (1) wasn't an insult and (2) would _not_ help keep their relationship secret.

Alfred sighed—insulting Arthur wasn't half as much as kissing him—and continued on his way to the dining hall. He found Gilbert and Francis plotting a Slytherin Quidditch victory over lunch. Quidditch was also serious business.

The American took his usual seat, the one with a nice view of Arthur. He decided that a little staring would be okay. If anyone asked, he could just say that he was studying Arthur to learn his every weakness. If comic books had taught him anything, it was that it was perfectly normal for rivals to be completely obsessed with each other. Yep, perfectly normal.

"...it's not bad," Francis said as he pushed away the rest of his food.

"Not bad? Come on, it's way better than 'not bad.'" Gilbert turned to face Alfred. "Hey, Alfred, tell Frannie how awesome my awesome plan is."

The American stuffed a buttered roll into his mouth. He knew Gilbert well enough to know the right answer. "It's awesome?" he mumbled.

The other boy slapped him on the back. "Of course it is! I thought it up over break. See, there are three games left in the season." He ticked them off on his finger. "Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, us vs. Ravenclaw, and the main event, us against Gryffindor, assuming we both have the top scores, which we will. Anyway, I realized over break that we don't have any more games with the 'puffs. You know what that means."

"More beer?" Alfred offered in between bites. Beer was also a good guess when dealing with Gilbert's plans.

Gilbert grinned. "That too. But first we train the Hufflepuffs and _they_ beat Gryffindor. Then we all go out drinking. Awesome plan, huh?"

"Yeah." Alfred nodded absent-mindedly and reached for the desserts. He'd never heard of treacle tarts before arriving at Hogwarts, so he had to make up for 16 years of tragic deprivation. The American added a large dollop of clotted cream to the warm tart. Then he realized that Gilbert's plan didn't actually make any sense. It'd be great for beating Gryffindor and as much as he liked Arthur, even Alfred enjoyed seeing the prideful boy lose on occasion. But he didn't see any benefits other than Schadenfreude (what Gilbert called 'die Beste Freude').

"Wait, how does that help us?" Alfred asked before taking a second bite of his tart.

Francis smiled. "Ah, you suffer from a common misconception. The winner is not chosen based on who wins the final match. The Quidditch Cup is awarded based on point totals from all of the games," he explained.

"So fewer points for Gryffindor in their Hufflepuff game means an easier victory for us," Gilbert crowed. "I told you it was awesome."

"The only downside is that if we train the Hufflepuff team this year, they will know our strategy for next," Francis offered. "But Gil, Toni, and I are seventh-years. You're going to have a crappy team anyway."

"Sorry, kid." Gilbert added. "Looks like you need to grab your victory now."

Alfred chewed slowly as he mulled over the plan. The Quidditch teams normally didn't practice with each other so they could keep their game strategy secret. But there was nothing in the _rules_ that said they _couldn't_. Alfred thought that spending time with the Slytherin trio would leave him completely ignorant of the school's rules. It turned out the opposite was true. No one knew the rules as well as the trio. They knew _exactly_ how far they could go without risking serious punishment. It was one thing to break the rules; it was much better to break the rules and _get away with it_.

Having watched the 'puffs play, Alfred already knew a few tips he could give to their seeker. But most of them focused on how to take advantage of Arthur's weaknesses, and that felt like a betrayal of the other boy. The American bit his lip. It was a clever plan and appropriately sneaky, as befit Slytherin House. But if Arthur found out... he would be seriously annoyed. The Slytherin felt his divided loyalties sharply.

"I don't mind if you guys share chaser tips with the 'puffs, I'm not sure I want the Hufflepuff seeker knowing my technique," he finally said. He actually expected to join a Quidditch team this year and finish his seventh year NEWTs with correspondence courses, but he couldn't give them the real reason for his hesitation, since he had promised Arthur that he would keep it secret.

Gilbert leaned forward. "I have an awesome plan for that too. We'll just train the beaters and the chasers. The 'puff beaters need to focus on attacking Kirkland with the bludgers, because that'll give their own seeker a much better shot of getting the snitch."

Alfred nodded slowly. "And they don't need to worry about the Gryffindor chasers scoring points because the 'puffs have the best keeper. That is an good plan," he said in genuine admiration. Gil seemed like a screwball half the time, but he really was a smart Quidditch player.

Gilbert smirked. "Kesese. Told you so."

* * *

The hardest part of the plan was convincing the Hufflepuffs to go along with it. 'Never expect free help from a snake,' was a saying at Hogwarts for a reason.

Nevertheless, the Hufflepuff team captain eventually, grudgingly accepted their assistance. After a bit of hemming and hawing (Hufflepuff normally sided with Gryffindor in questions of school rivalry), she was finally won over by Antonio's argument that allowing them to help train the Hufflepuff chasers and beaters would show that hard work and perseverance (both qualities that Hufflepuff selected for) beat natural skill.

As the two teams practiced together, Francis and Antonio gave tips to the Hufflepuff chasers, who took turns scoring against the Slytherin keeper. Meanwhile, Gilbert showed the beaters how to use their bats to give the bludgers a good spin. With extra spin, the heavy balls flew faster and hit harder, creating enough force to seriously injure the other team's seeker.

"Now, pretend that Alfred here is the Gryffindor seeker and try to hit him!" Gilbert shouted as he set loose a number of bludgers.

Alfred ducked and weaved, barely avoiding nasty hits from the flying balls. It took all of his attention just to avoid getting hit—he had no energy to spare for finding the snitch, which was precisely the point of having the beaters focus on the opposing team's seeker. Arthur wouldn't be able to catch a damn thing.

After a hard hit to the stomach, Alfred swooped to the ground and dismounted. "I'm done!" he shouting, calling off the attacks. He stumbled into the locker room and grabbed a potion of soothing ointment, grateful that he had the foresight to bring it along.

The American smiled, pleased with the Hufflepuff team's fast progress, until he remembered that he was helping them get better so they could try to hit Arthur with heavy bludgers. Alfred reminded himself that he couldn't hesitate—he was at Hogwarts so he could get scouted by a top-notch Quidditch team. If he won the Quidditch Cup, they would be much more likely to pick him. And really, it was the same strategy the Gryffindors had used against him in the second Gryffindor/Slytherin game, so they had no one to blame but themselves if the Hufflepuff team used it against them. But none of his excuses or rationalizations made him feel any better.

Alfred sighed as he ran his hand through his sweaty hair. It was going to be very hard not to warn Arthur the next time he saw his rival/secret boyfriend. But he had to keep silent. His Quidditch ambitions were worth it.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Sorry for the lack of calls. The service around here isn't very good, so I'm pretty much limited to texts. I guess that must be the reason no one has cell phones at school._

_Arthur's doing good, but he's stressed out about his NEWTS. All of the seventh years are. I've been practicing a lot for Quidditch. Other than that, not much to add._

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

* * *

As the weeks slowly passed, the charade proved increasingly difficult for Arthur to manage. His classes provided some distraction, but it simply wasn't enough to keep his mind (particularly his dirty imagination) from drifting to Alfred. It had been bad enough when he wanted Alfred and thought the American wasn't interested. Now he knew the only thing standing between them was the potential disapproval of the entire school body. Peer pressure won out over his libido, but it was a tough choice.

Even his dreams had turned against him. Arthur used to dream of soft lips and passionate embraces. Now he had nightmares where his teammates discovered the relationship and kicked him off the team. In his nightmares, he found himself jobless after graduation and relying on his aunt and uncle for assistance. They forced him to clean the house and live in a broom closet under the stairs. He would wake in a cold sweat, swearing to himself that he would earn his way onto a top-rated team and never have to depend on his aunt and uncle ever again.

Tired after finishing his Ancient Runes essay and hoping for a short nap before dinner, Arthur climbed up to his room. As he pushed open the door he discovered his cousin rifling through his belongings. He clenched his fist, annoyed at the little brat.

"Peter! What are you doing here?" he snapped.

His cousin looked up. Instead of looking guilty, he had a small smirk on his face. "Look what I found!" he said, brandishing a small potion bottle. "This must be how the Slytherin seeker cast a spell on you... with a love potion! But don't worry, I'm going to save you, Arthur."

Arthur sighed and grabbed the bottle. "This was a Christmas gift from Kiku, now get out of my room before I have to deduct even more points from Gryffindor."

Peter stubbornly refused to leave. "Is it alcohol? Mum and Dad say you drink too much."

"It's none of your business," Arthur replied, yanking the potion from Peter's grasp and placing it back into the trunk, where it was cradled by a bit of Christmas wrapping paper.

He was lying about the source of the gift, of course. It had been a present from Alfred, not Kiku, and a particularly thoughtful one at that. The potion contained Alfred's hangover cure. Arthur gently touched the wrapping paper. He couldn't find it in his heart to throw the paper away after the Slytherin had pointed out that the red and green colors were perfect for them. The Gryffindor Prefect relocked his trunk and made a mental note to invest in a better locking charm.

"Why were you with him on the train platform?" Peter asked accusingly.

Arthur had hoped that Peter wouldn't notice, but he was prepared just in case. He sighed dramatically.

"Jones heard me talking about plans to buy a broomstick and insisted that he wanted a new one too. I had nearly given him the slip when I ran into your parents. I can't hex him in front of muggles, I'm afraid."

"I guess not." Peter was apparently satisfied with that response, since his next question lacked the bravado of his earlier accusations. "Well, how come you didn't come home for Christmas? Are you still mad about the jinx on your broomstick?" he asked softly.

Arthur sighed again. He didn't know how to explain to an 11-year-old that his parents weren't very nice people. They had expected Arthur to be grateful for taking him in after his first year at Hogwarts, but they had never once apologized for the four years he spent in foster care (even though they _must_ have known about his existence), nor had they ever spared a kind word for Arthur's parents.

Part of it was Peter's fault as well, since Arthur was still annoyed with his young cousin for hexing his broom out of jealously. The foolish and spoiled boy had thought that if Arthur performed poorly during the game that his team would automatically replace him, giving Peter a chance to be Gryffindor seeker. Heaven knew why he thought that he would be their choice. He wished his cousin wasn't consumed with a toxic combination of hero-worship and jealously.

"Peter, I'd rather not be called a delinquent by your parents the entire time, _and_ I had a lot of studying to do over break. I've got my NEWTs, remember?" Arthur sighed. His aunt and uncle had been moderately kind for the first few years, but as soon as his lack of skill in potions became apparent, the negative remarks began. Apparently they viewed _any_ academic deficiency as casting doubt on the purity of their magical bloodline.

"But I wanted to play Quidditch with you! How am I going to be a great Quidditch player if you don't help me?" Peter whined.

Arthur frog-marched the boy out of the dormitory bedroom. "Maybe you should spend more time studying and less time spying on me," he said, before shutting the door. He was in no mood to deal with Peter's spoiled moods.

The Gryffindor sighed and sat down heavily on his bed. He had thrown Peter off the scent for now, but he would have to be extra careful in choosing the right time and place for his trysts with Alfred.

The English boy pulled a mobile from his pocket.

 _Abandoned north tower at 11pm?_ he texted.

He barely had a chance to open his History of Magic textbook before a slight buzz in his pocket let him know that Alfred had replied.

 _YES_ :)

* * *

The north tower had once been used for divination classes, but now served as a storage room for extra classroom supplies and seized items.

Arthur arrived a few minutes early. He set a subtle confounding jinx to confuse anyone other than Alfred who tried to enter the tower. They would reach the door and then forget what they were doing. Pleased with his handiwork, Arthur spent the rest of his time hunting for pillows or cushions of some sort. He found one old armchair that looked big enough for two. Even better, he pulled out an unopened bottle of rum he had confiscated from the Slytherin trio. There were no drinking glasses, but Arthur was ready to rough it. He took a swig straight from the bottle.

The American arrived a few minute late, which was on time by his standards. He grinned when he spotted Arthur lounging on the chair with a bottle of rum. "Is that the bottle you took away from Francis last month?" he asked.

"Yes. Want some?" Arthur offered the bottle. He patted the seat next to him, making room for the other boy. Alfred happily took the invitation and plopped down onto the armchair. Arthur adjusted his position (making sure to keep the rum from spilling—it wouldn't do to waste perfectly good alcohol) and soon they had found a comfortable arrangement half-cuddling on the chair, with Arthur mostly resting on top of Alfred.

"Y'know, I think I see why you aren't Head Boy," Alfred said with a laugh as he accepted the bottle. He took a small swig and coughed as the fiery liquid burned down his throat. "Damn, that _burns_."

"It's an acquired taste," the English boy casually replied as he tilted back his head and showed off his skill at smoothly drinking the hard liquor.

Alfred laughed. "Come on, Artie, I'm starting to suspect you're only here to drink." He claimed the rum bottle and set it on the floor next to the chair, out of Arthur's reach.

"I happen to _like_ drinking."

"Yeah, but it'd be a pain to carry your drunk ass around without getting caught or having someone jump to the totally wrong conclusion. I mean, sure, you're adorable and hilarious when you're plastered, and super affectionate, and you strip down to like, nothing, at the drop of a pointed hat... but, uh... actually, wow, maybe drinking _is_ a good idea."

"I don't have to be drunk to take off my clothes."

The American grinned. "Prove it."

The English boy obliged by sitting up in the chair and stripping off his outer robes and cardigan. His shirt followed next, leaving his soft skin almost glowing in the moonlit tower. He helped Alfred out of his own robes and then planted his lips on the other boy's mouth. Arthur tasted like rum and sex. Or perhaps Alfred had just come to associate the taste of Arthur with all things sexy.

The first kiss ended too soon (they _always_ ended too soon), but Arthur immediately titled his head to begin planting rough hickeys along the American's neck. As Alfred sighed in pleasure, he ghosted his own hands along Arthur's body, and, feeling particularly bold, used one hand to caress Arthur's buttocks.

Arthur lifted himself up to eye-level as he straddled Alfred and grinned. "You can give them a good squeeze, if you want," he practically purred.

Alfred began to grope gently, like he was giving a massage. A soft moan from Arthur encouraged him to pinch the cheeks a little harder. After months of lustfully eyeing Arthur's back, he discovered that they were just as tight and toned and perfect as he had imagined. Alfred had never thought of himself as a legs-and-ass man, but maybe he had just never met the right pair of legs.

"Artie, have I ever told you that your ass is amazing?" he said in genuine admiration. Arthur deserved to know how absolutely sexy he was. And if Alfred had any say in the matter, he would hear it repeatedly for the rest of the year.

"Is it all you could ever _arse_ for?" Arthur responded playfully.

"Let's just say I'm starting to get jealous of your broomstick," Alfred teased back. He wasn't sure if he should thank the kissing or the rum, but he liked it when Arthur was in a frisky mood. He returned his hands to Arthur's hips and pulled the other boy into a hot and heavy kiss. They continued breathlessly, exploring with lips and finger tips. Alfred's shirt joined the pile on the floor.

Eventually, Arthur rested his head against Alfred's bare chest. It felt a little cold in the tower, so he levitated one of the robes to cover them both. The American wrapped his arms around the other boy and nestled his chin in Arthur's soft hair. He was going to have a hard time waking up for class the next day, given his shortened amount of sleep, but he didn't care. Every stolen moment was worth it. He gently rubbed his foot against Arthur's leg and grinned when the English boy smiled back at him. In the dim light, Arthur's smile looked soft and happy and perfect. Alfred loved their kisses, but Arthur's smile made him feel a different sort of warmth.

They cuddled as the minutes ticked past. Alfred should have felt sleepy, but the fire in his veins kept him warm and wide awake. The English boy broke the silence first.

"Alfred, say something in a Southern accent."

"Sure. What do you want to hear?"

"Oh, just anything."

Alfred grinned and drawled. "Well, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn what you want," he said, leaning close as he delivered the line. Since it seemed to please Arthur, he continued, "I talk like this when I'm fixin' to charm people. And I do believe it's working, ain't it, sweetheart?"

"Maybe. Keep talking and pass the rum," Arthur replied, trying not to lose himself over something as silly as an accent, even an accent spilling from the lips of a handsome young man. The pleasant buzz filling his body was probably just the alcohol.

"I dunno, darlin', that sounds like it'll lead to a mess of trouble," the American said as he casually reached for the bottle. Instead of bringing it closer, he pushed it away.

With a small huff, Arthur pulled out his wand and levitated the bottle within his reach. They tussled briefly for control, but Arthur won the skirmish by rotating his hips so that he sat in the American's lap. He wiggled carefully as he grabbed the bottle, fully prepared to swear up and down that any resemblance to a lap dance was _completely accidental_.

Arthur grinned as he heard Alfred's breath hitch. He took a swig and leaned back on his human chair, pleased with his own deviousness.

"Y'all got some strange kinks, Art," Alfred finally managed, his tone a strange mixture of exasperation and admiration.

Arthur tilted his head to the side and kissed the other boy on the cheek. He relaxed in the warm embrace, enjoying the rise and fall of Alfred's chest beneath him. Eventually they both heard the bells chime midnight. Arthur sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He corked the bottle and slipped it into a secure hiding space. They both dressed.

Arthur turned to face Alfred and grabbed his hand as they both descended the spiral staircase that led to the base of the tower. "I should warn you. Peter suspects," he said quietly.

Alfred frowned. "Your cousin?"

"He saw us on the platform, when you so graciously accepted the money from my aunt and uncle."

"Hey, turning down free money is practically a sin." Alfred smiled. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. And hey, at the Hufflepuff game... you should be careful too."

Arthur chuckled. "You should worry less about the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game and more about _our_ rematch, my lad," he advised, giving Alfred a quick peck on the lips before he disappeared down the dark corridor.

Alfred watched Arthur go with a sense of unease. The English boy had warned him about the dangers of mixing sport and pleasure, but he had brushed those concerns aside. Now the reality of being torn between two desires was starting to sink in. Alfred had dreamed of playing on a professional Quidditch team his whole life. But he didn't know if he could win the Quidditch Cup and still keep Arthur, and oddly enough, he wasn't sure which one he wanted more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muggle technology isn't supposed to work at Hogwarts, but I forgot that when I included Alfred's video game console, so... I guess we'll just pretend that the cell phones and console contain some hybrid of magic and technology that works at Hogwarts. * Hand Wave *
> 
> I also want to note that Alfred is using the singular y'all as an intentional exaggeration of a Southern accent. He's a Virginian for this story, because of course he is :)


	10. Hufflepuff Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual tension intensifies.

Alfred wanted to spend the rest of the week fretting about the possibility that Arthur would get hurt in his next Quidditch match, but he soon discovered a more pressing concern: no one wanted to go with him to the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game! Alfred hated watching Quidditch matches on his own. He liked to keep up a constant stream of chatter during the games, so he needed someone to listen, or at least sit there silently while he talk at them. But as much as he begged, everyone kept turning him down.

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert preferred to use the time to play pranks since fewer professors and students were wandering the halls. Once the match ended they would return to the dorm and act innocent. Kiku was uninterested in a non-Ravenclaw match and Madeleine was swamped by homework.

"Alfred, these essays aren't going to write themselves," she protested as they sat at their usual spot in the library on the morning of the game. Other than Ravenclaw students, the library was deserted on game day.

"Well, they _could_ , if you used an Auto-Answer Quill," he suggested.

"How are you even a Prefect?"

Alfred grinned. "Lack of competition. Come on, Maddie. It'll be a short game, I promise. Don't you care about the 'puff team and Badger pride? Please, please, please?"

She shook her head with a soft sigh and closed her Ancient Runes textbook. "Fine, fine. But if it lasts more than an hour, I'm leaving."

Alfred whooped loudly enough to draw a reprimand from the librarian and annoyed glares from the nearby Ravenclaw students. He dashed to his dorm to drop off his books and grab his warm Slytherin scarf. They met just outside the entrance hall and walked quickly to the Quidditch arena, breath frosting in the air as they looked for empty seats near other Hufflepuff students.

The American watched with his heart in his mouth as the two teams took the field. He knew that Artie was fast enough to dodge the bludgers, but he still worried for the other boy. The teams gathered in two huddles, one red and one gold, to discuss their final pre-game strategy. The Gryffindors looked relaxed and overconfident, as usual.

"Have you started thinking about the Ostara Ball?" Madeleine asked, distracting Alfred from his trepidation as he watched the players mount their broomsticks.

Alfred blinked. Images of quaffles and bludgers and snitches appeared in his head—the three types of balls used in Quidditch. And he knew about the Quodpot balls. But he'd never heard of an 'Ostara' ball. Perhaps it was a regional variant.

"The what-a-what?" he asked.

"The spring formal," Madeleine explained. "The school used to host a Yule Ball on Christmas Day during the Triwizard Tournament. But parents complained about the awkward timing, so now we have the dance in March or April."

Oh, the sort of ball that involved _dancing_.

"Do you have to wear dress robes?" Alfred asked as the Quidditch match started. The players took to the sky in a sudden flurry of flying robes. He winced as Arthur barely ducked a bludger sent his way.

"Of course you do, it's a _formal_."

Arthur dodged another bludger and it took Alfred a second to remember what he and Madeleine were talking about. Alfred absolutely hated dressy occasions. The last time he had been forced to wear dress robes he had 'accidentally' set them on fire. Twice. And then he burned them with acid. And then he tossed them in a lake. He was pretty sure they had been eaten by a squid. Keeping his eyes on the game, he replied, "Then I'm not going."

"I'm not sure I'm going either," she confessed. "I want to go with Francis, but I'm nervous about asking him." She twisted her fingers in her yellow scarf.

"You should just do it," Alfred said. He breathed a sigh of relief as Arthur moved to the upper area of the field, out of the bludgers' immediate range.

Madeleine huffed. "That's all very well and good for you to _say_ , but it's just talk. I don't see _you_ rushing to ask Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred tore his eyes away from the field and looked at his Hufflepuff friend in shock.

"What? Why would I ask Arthur?" he asked, trying to hide the panic in his voice. He forced a laugh. "That's ridiculous."

Maddie rolled her eyes. "I'm invisible, not blind. You always say that you want to study his 'strategy,' but that notebook of yours is filled with more sketches than notes."

The American slouched in his seat and turned back to watching the game. He hoped that he could blame his red cheeks on the cold. He watched the game for a few moments—the Hufflepuffs were leading in points and the Gryffindor team seemed confused by the entire turn of events. He wondered how much he should tell Madeleine. She was smart and could give him good relationship advice (which Alfred desperately needed), but he _had_ promised Arthur that he would keep it secret.

"What do you think I should do?" Alfred finally asked plaintively.

"Just ask him," she replied with a casual grin, echoing Alfred's advice.

He nodded slowly, giving the idea serious thought as he turned back to watch the game. He was already tired of keeping their relationship secret. He wanted to be able to spend more time with Arthur than just a few stolen hours in hidden places. Having to pretend that they actively disliked each other was driving him crazy. And he could probably put up with dress robes for one night if it made Arthur happy. He bet the Gryffindor liked big formal events.

The Hufflepuffs nearby cheered wildly as their team scored again. They had a sizable lead—almost 100 points—and Alfred could feel the enthusiasm and energy coursing through the crowd. Even Madeleine looked excited.

In the midst of the cheering crowd, Alfred gasped as he saw a bludger connect with Arthur's elbow.

The Gryffindor Seeker gritted his teeth and kept flying, but Alfred could tell that it was a bad hit—probably bad enough to break the bone. He couldn't stop the sinking feeling in his stomach that it was _his_ fault for agreeing to help the Hufflepuffs. No one else in the crowd likely noticed, but Alfred could tell that Arthur flew just a little slower and had more difficulty maneuvering the turns. He could see that the Gryffindor was fighting his way through the pain. Alfred bit his lip and watched anxiously.

* * *

At the end of the hour, the Gryffindor captain called a short break. She gathered the team for a huddle to plan their strategy given Hufflepuf's 150-point lead.

"Arthur, if you see a chance to catch the snitch, take it."

"But they'll win," he protested.

"I know. We've got to think of the long game."

She reminded the team that their real rivals were the Slytherins. Taking a loss against the Hufflepuff team was worth it because the 150 points from catching the snitch would still count towards their total, even if the 'puffs ended up winning the game by 10 or 20 points. The real danger was letting the snitch pass by, which would give the Hufflepuff seeker a chance to score the 150 points for her own team.

Arthur nodded. He knew it was a strategic decision, but he'd never faced the dilemma of having to catch the snitch when it resulted in a loss for his team. He respected his captain and her strategy. As the time-out drew to a close, Arthur drank a pain-numbing potion, secured his arm with a make-shift sling, and took back to the skies. He knew he needed to act fast. With his diminished ability to dodge, it was only a matter of time before a bludger knocked him out of the game completely.

The Hufflepuffs were playing with a ferocity he had never seen from their team before. They were taking more risks and he thought he saw the influence of Slytherin techniques in the way the chasers and beaters moved. Arthur had heard whispers of secret training between the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins, and dismissed them as nonsense, because no Quidditch team would willingly give up their secrets, but now he had to admit that the rumors seemed to be true. The one bright spot, for him at least, was that the Hufflepuff seeker lacked Alfred's cunning and sly ability to take advantage of Arthur's blind spots. Perhaps the boy didn't want to share his secrets when he still had another year at Hogwarts, but Arthur found it oddly touching that Alfred hadn't trained the Hufflepuff seeker as much as he could have.

As Arthur dodged yet another bludger, a flash of gold caught his eye directly beneath him. The sneaky snitch was hiding a brooms-length below. It knew that one of the most difficult maneuvers on a broom was a straight-down controlled plunge.

Unfortunately for the snitch, Arthur had a stick-shift broom and he knew how to use it. He kicked the broom's levitation charm off for a second and fell straight down, jolting his broken arm painfully. At the last moment, he restarted the broom as his fingers brushed the cold metallic surface. With a pained expression, he held the snitch aloft for the referees to see.

The Hufflepuff team had won the game.

* * *

"Hufflepuff wins, 180 to 160!" the announcer shouted loudly. "Holy shit, this is the first split snitch win I've seen in the past four yeas. And what an amazing play, that was the Deadman's Drop," he continued, praising Arthur's skilled flying.

The Hufflepuff students in the audience erupted in wild cheers and even Madeleine joined them in jumping up and down in the stands. "Badg-ger, badg-ger," the crowd began to slowly chant. "Badg-ger, badg-ger, badg-ger, badg-ger!"

"Snake..." Alfred added softly under his breath.

"We did it! We did it!" Madeleine cried happily. She jumped up and down and hugged Alfred. He returned the hug, but kept his gaze on Arthur as the boy made his way to the Gryffindor locker room carefully holding his injured arm. The American blinked in surprise as he realized that Madeleine was stealing his Slytherin scarf. She quickly replaced it with her own and winked.

"A Hufflepuff will have a much easier time getting into the infirmary," she suggested. "Now quick, what's the password to the Slytherin common room?"

Alfred told her, grinning as he realized that she intended to go find Francis and ask him to the dance. "The seventh years are on the top floor!" he called as she scampered off.

He nodded to himself. With all of the energy in the air, he felt like he had consumed a whole potion of Felix Felicis. Perhaps Madeleine had the right idea. They didn't need liquid luck, they just needed a positive attitude. He could make sure Arthur was okay and then ask him to the dance.

Alfred grinned and raced along the path to the school infirmary. Pausing at the door, he carefully adjusted the Hufflepuff scarf, making sure it covered the Slytherin emblem on the breast pocket of his robes and the green color of his collar. As Madeleine had guessed, the school nurse was more than happy to let him visit his 'friend,' although she warned him that the Skele-Heal potion to fix Arthur's broken arm would leave him slightly disoriented as it took effect.

"Still, I'm sure he'll be happy to see a friend," she said cheerfully. "I kicked his teammates out because they were too rowdy and annoying all my other patients. I CAN'T STAND LOUD VISITORS! But I'm sure you'll be quiet, won't you, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alfred replied, trying his best to act mild-mannered.

The school nurse led him to Arthur's bed and left to treat her other patients. The white curtains blocked the view from the other beds, giving them a small private space. Alfred stepped forward slowly, all of the trepidation he had felt at the beginning of the game coming back to him in full force. Arthur looked far too pale, his skin nearly as white as the bandages wrapped around his arm. Alfred sat down on a stool next to the bed and reached out to touch the other boy's hand.

Noticing the slight touch, Arthur opened his eyes. He blinked and reached out to touch Alfred's scarf. "You've changed houses," he remarked, fingering the soft wool.

The American shrugged and grinned. "Easier to get in this way."

"Like a wolf in sheep's clothing," Arthur murmured. He sat up, looking more alert as the potion took effect. His gaze focused on Alfred, but his expression was impossible to read. "I heard the Slytherins helped train the Hufflepuff team for this game," he mentioned casually, like it was a bit of school gossip and not a major betrayal.

Alfred averted his gaze and nodded. "Yeah," he confessed.

He waited for an outburst from Arthur, but none came. He looked up and held Arthur's gaze. The Gryffindor seemed calm. Alfred wasn't sure if it was from the numbing effects of the potion or if Arthur truly didn't care.

"Are you mad?" he asked hesitantly.

"Why should I be? All's fair in love, war, and Quidditch," the Gryffindor finally replied. "That's why we end up in the infirmary so often," he dryly remarked.

Alfred grinned. "I always thought it was because of your bad drinking habits."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

The American pushed his stool a little closer to the bed. He glanced around to make sure that none of the nearby patients were listening to their conversation. Since Arthur didn't seem mad, he decided to grasp the opportunity to ask him to the spring formal. Though Alfred normally thought of himself as a brave person, even he had to gather his considerable courage to pop the question.

"Hey, Arthur... do you want to go to the Ostara Ball with me?"

An odd expression flitted across Arthur's face. He retracted his hand (the American hadn't even realized he was still holding it), and leaned back against his pillow. The English boy closed his eyes, looking tired and conflicted.

"You know we can't."

Alfred pouted. He hated when Arthur looked sad and unhappy, but he was also annoyed that Arthur wasn't brave where it really mattered. It wasn't like them dating would be the end of the world. The students would be surprised, but they would get over it.

"Is it 'cause I can't dance?" Alfred asked, turning it into a joke, although the rejection still stung.

"Alfred, be sensible. No matter who wins the Quidditch Cup, there will always be questions if people suspect us. And I have to think of the recruiters. I doubt a Quidditch team would even want me if they thought I was willing to pull a member of a rival team."

"I'm not worried about the recruiters," Alfred replied.

"Of course _you_ aren't, you've still got another year," Arthur retorted, his voice tired as he rubbed the back of his hands against his eyes.

"Actually, they can recruit anyone who turns 17 before the start of the next Quidditch season. And my birthday's in July."

Arthur's eyes shot open. He stared at Alfred, aghast.

"You're recruiting _this_ year?"

"Of course I am," Alfred replied defensively. "It's not going to be much fun here when you're gone. Not to mention Frannie, Toni, and Gil."

"How can you be so _selfish_?"

The hurt in the other boy's voice took Alfred by surprise. He suddenly felt like the jerk Arthur had accused him of being, but he crossed his arms and tried to ignore it. He wasn't going to lower his ambitions just to make life easier for Arthur.

"Pfft. There are like a dozen teams that recruit at Hogwarts. Why do you think I picked this school?"

Arthur gave him a look of utter disbelief. "The teams don't need a new seeker every year. And Hogwarts isn't the only school they visit. So if we're very, _very_ lucky, they take _one_ seeker per year. Didn't you check any of this before you decided to transfer?" he asked harshly, scowling at Alfred.

Alfred shrugged. "Hey, I figured I'd be the best, so I didn't worry about it."

"Well, I recommend that you start worrying," the Gryffindor replied as he rolled over, turning his back to Alfred. "Go away, Jones. I knew this was a bad idea."

"Your face is a bad idea," Alfred shot back as he gathered his Hufflepuff scarf and left. He hated when Arthur acted like everything was his fault. As he angrily brushed past the door in his hurry to leave, Alfred didn't notice the short boy with very familiar eyebrows hiding near the door.

* * *

Arthur closed his eyes, the anger draining from his body as soon as Alfred left. It was unfair of him to lash out at the clueless American, but Arthur couldn't see any way that competing against each other would work out well. It was better to end it before he got in too deep. He would always resent Alfred if the American won a spot on a Quidditch team, and he was sure the feeling was mutual.

Hearing a small shuffling noise next to his bed, the Gryffindor quietly readied his wand. He scowled, displeased that Alfred hadn't respected his wishes to be left alone.

"I _thought_ I made myself clear," Arthur growled as he rolled over and pointed his wand at the person standing next to his bed. He pulled back when he spotted large eyebrows and a scared expression. Arthur sighed and stowed away his wand.

"Peter, what do you want?" he asked in exasperation.

"I-I was just trying to protect you from the Slytherin seeker," the young boy replied. "He was right here disguised as a Hufflepuff! I bet he has an awful plan."

"No, he was just here to annoy me. But why should he bother when you do it so well?"

Peter frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Never mind," Arthur replied, grateful when the nurse returned to remove his bandage. She declared his arm fully healed. Peter insisted on following Arthur around to protect him from the wily Slytherin Seeker. After a bit of thought, Arthur decided to take a nice long, relaxing soak in the Prefect's Bathroom, which was conveniently a place his cousin couldn't follow.

Arthur lounged in the marble bathtub, but as much as he tried, he couldn't relax. Alfred aggravated and frustrated him sometimes, yet the American had an ability to laugh off Arthur's grouchy behavior that most people lacked. No one else had ever smiled at him with such sparking eyes and happiness. No one bypassed his defenses so easily. Neither of them had used the L-word, but Arthur knew it could be more than a passing fancy.

Telling himself that he wasn't looking for Alfred, he checked the library and the dining hall after dinner. Pretending that he was just looking for his textbook, he looked in the potions classroom and peeked in the library again. By the time he thought to check the north tower, Arthur admitted to himself that he wanted to find Alfred. He still hadn't sorted out his own feelings, but he couldn't leave things the way they where.

The north tower was empty.

Arthur glanced at the bottle of rum, but left it in his special hiding spot. He owed it to Alfred and himself to deal with his own emotions in a level-headed manner. He remembered the mobile phone in his dresser drawer, but he didn't know what to text. Perhaps it was best to take a few days to clear his own head and then talk it over with Alfred.

And if that didn't work, he could always try the getting-completely-wasted-and-drunk-texting-Alfred strategy later.

* * *

They didn't talk for the next week and Alfred soon realized that he had picked up a tail. No matter where he went in the library, the dining hall, or even just walking in the corridors, he could see Peter Kirkland watching him. The Slytherin dorm was his only safe spot, and even Slytherin didn't feel as welcoming since he had to watch Francis and Madeleine act lovey-dovey in the common room.

Alfred was happy for Madeleine, but it was painful to watch her romantic efforts pay off so well while his were falling to pieces. Arthur wanted him to stay away, so he stayed away. God, he didn't even know what they were anymore. He wasn't sure he had ever known what they were to each other. Alfred's grades began to dive and when he failed an attempt to make a normally easy potion, the potions master pulled him aside for a little chat after class.

"Alfred, is everything going alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, totally," he lied.

She clearly didn't believe him. "Would you like to have a cup of tea and talk about what's bothering you?" she offered, pointing to her cauldron of boiling water. It wasn't the usual sort of tea pot, but potions professors were expected to be a bit eccentric.

"Nah, no thanks," Alfred said. The smell of tea would remind him of Arthur and he didn't want to be reminded of Arthur. Everything reminded him of Arthur. The color _green_ reminded him of Arthur, making it kind of painful to live in Slytherin dorm.

"I know there's a lot of stress floating around because of Valentine's Day and the Ostara Ball. Let's just say, there's a reason I lock up the love potion ingredients," she said, prying gently as she poured herself a cup. She clearly suspected it was a romantic problem. She was right, but Alfred wasn't going to admit that to his teacher.

Alfred shook his head. "No, it's not that. I'm worried about Quidditch. What if I don't get an offer to join one of the pro teams?"

"Well, there's a lot you can do with your life that doesn't involve a broomstick. You're one of the best potions students I've ever had, Alfred, and I think you could make a real name for yourself inventing new potions. You shouldn't settle for small ambitions, you know. A Quidditch player who wins a game will be remembered for a few years, but a potion inventor is remembered for centuries."

He stared at her blankly, trying to understand the idea that Quidditch wasn't the most important thing in the world.

"But... _Quidditch_..." he protested.

She laughed. "Alright, off with you then. Just focus a bit more in class, okay?"

* * *

It turned out that Arthur Kirkland and his cousin shared one key trait in common: sheer obstinate determination. Arthur expected that his cousin would get tired of stalking the Slytherin seeker after a few days. Instead, Peter maintained his constant vigilance. Arthur wasn't proud of the sentiment, but in some small way he felt relieved that his cousin was irritating someone else for a change.

Plus, it gave Arthur the chance to put his own plans in motion. He convinced the headmaster to send out letters to recently formed Quidditch teams, particularly American ones, inviting them to come recruit at Hogwarts. Nothing could _guarantee_ Alfred a spot, but he wanted to give the boy the best chance possible. Arthur was clearly the better player, so Alfred would need all the help he could get.

And Arthur held out hope that if they both found a position with different Quidditch teams, they could possibly give dating another go after their final match. It was silly and self-indulgent and would probably lead to heartbreak, but he still wanted Alfred back.

Lost in thought, Arthur didn't notice his cousin lurking outside the entrance to the Prefect's Bathroom. If he had been paying more attention, he would have realized what it meant sooner. Instead, he entered the bathroom and changed into his swim trunks without sparing a glance for the large tub in the center of the room. He just wanted a nice relaxing soak to help him forget all of his worries.

It wasn't until he approached the pool that he saw Alfred staring back at him. Arthur held the young man's gaze for a moment, before walking forward and gently lowering himself into the bubble-filled tub. He hoped that he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He had come to the bathroom hoping to relax. Fat chance that would happen now.

"Nice weather we've been having," Arthur said, hoping to ease the tense atmosphere.

Alfred grunted as they both glanced at the windows and watched rain splatter against the stained glass images. It had been raining for most of January. Arthur flushed and looked down at the bubbles near his chest, wishing he had chosen a less idiotic greeting. Alfred probably thought he was being deliberately standoffish. No wonder they were both sitting there in silence.

Arthur stared at the windows and the bubbles and then his own swim trunks before he felt his gaze drawn to Alfred. The American's bare chest was just as handsome as he remembered. He drank in the sight, unsure when he would have a chance to admire it again. Alfred's wet hair was a dark honey-gold, but one strand still defied gravity. He averted his gaze before he started drooling.

Since the weather had failed, Arthur decided to try a different tack: sport.

"The Ravenclaw match is coming up," he observed. On second thought, he realized that might not have been the best choice of topic either. If the Slytherin team won the match they would go on to face Gryffindor in the final game. Him against Alfred.

Alfred gave him an unimpressed look. " _Really_ , Arthur?"

"I'm just trying to be polite," Arthur snapped.

"Don't bother. You want to win, I want to win. That's all there is to it."

An awkward silence filled the room. Arthur thought he should say something, anything to let Alfred know that he still cared. He cared so much it scared him sometimes and he couldn't find the words to say it. He looked up as a gentle splash of water told him that Alfred was pulling himself out of the tub. And with that, the opportunity was lost.

Arthur sighed. He didn't look over his shoulder and admire Alfred's backside as the other boy walked to the changing area, except that he totally did.

* * *

Alfred believed in the power of potions to solve all of life's problems. And right now he needed a lot of help—he wanted to win the Quidditch cup, get the boy, and find some way to carbonate beverages because he was _dying_ from lack of soda. If Arthur didn't want to date him, he'd just have to find some way to take matters into his own hands.

As he flipped through his potions textbook, Alfred felt a sudden burst of inspiration as his eyes landed on the perfect solution to his Arthur problem. Maybe it was wrong of him to even consider the idea, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_There are some potion ingredients that are kinda hard to get around here. Do you think you could send me a package? I've made a list. Thanks!_

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were expecting sexytimes in the Prefects' Bathroom, weren't you? Nope! Have some awkward uncomfortable silence instead :)
> 
> I realize the badger badger song is now a decade old, but hopefully people still get the reference.


	11. Tea and Potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred discovers a potion to cure his ills.

Sitting near one of the few empty floor spaces in his messy room, Alfred held his breath as he added the second-to-last ingredient to his potion. He gave the mixture a final counterclockwise swirl and waited impatiently. In seconds, an ebony sheen spread from the center, filling the entire cauldron.

The final ingredient was a piece of Arthur's hair, taken from the bed where the drunken young man had spent the night. Alfred was grateful that he hadn't bothered to wash the sheets, or indeed, even make the bed. Sometimes laziness had its advantages.

As soon as he added the hair, the scent of tea wafted from the bubbling pot. The American let it cool for a few minutes and then carefully ladled the potion into several small bottles. He estimated that each dose would last one week, so he had enough to get him through the final Quidditch match.

What happened after that with Arthur would determined if he needed to make another batch.

Alfred tossed the left-over ingredients onto a convenient pile of robes. His parents had sent enough for one or two more batches. He was just glad they didn't remember their own potions classes well enough to guess what he was making. To be on the safe side, he had requested a few surplus ingredients to throw off their suspicions.

He lifted one of the bottles to his lips and gulped down the potion. It tasted bitter and sweet, like very dark chocolate. Alfred glanced at the box of dark chocolate rum cordials sitting on his dresser—a Valentine's Day present for Arthur that his parents had included in their most recent care package (they knew Alfred wouldn't keep it for himself because he hated dark chocolate)—and decided that the taste was oddly appropriate. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he didn't see any other way to solve his Arthur problem and win their final Quidditch match. As the potion took effect, he grew even more certain that he was right.

* * *

Later that week, in a dorm at the opposite end of the castle, Arthur stared at his mobile blankly. He had finally worked up the courage to just text Alfred an apology and he couldn't understand why Alfred refused to respond to his messages. No matter how profusely he apologized or how much he begged, the other boy didn't respond to a single message.

_Alfred, can we talk?_

_Please, I'm sorry for what I said._

_If you'll just talk to me, we can make this work._

He briefly wondered if the American had lost his phone, but that didn't explain why Alfred had started to ignore him in the hallways and the library. On the rare occasion he was lucky enough to catch Alfred's glance, there was nothing there. No regret, no longing. He wondered if the Slytherin was just putting on a good show in public. Arthur clung to that belief like a lifeline. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he hoped that Alfred remained deeply upset in private.

As the days passed and he had to listen to lovey-dovey couples make Valentine's Day plans for dates at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, Arthur felt his own loneliness cut like a knife. _He_ wanted to spend Valentine's Day calmly sipping tea as he listened to Alfred make terrible divinations.

Arthur had tried words and apologies and those hadn't worked. So he decided to try the next best thing—chocolate. They said that food was the way to a man's heart and Arthur suspected the saying was extra true for a glutton like Alfred.

The Gryffindor knew better than to send fine chocolates. Instead he prepared a package of Cadbury Flakes, Curly Wurlys, and Smarties Chocolate Beans. He included a small note saying, "I'm sorry," positive that Alfred would know the source. Perhaps a few sweets would sweeten Alfred's mood.

When Arthur received an anonymous package of dark cocoa, rum-filled chocolates on Valentine's Day, he felt his spirits lift. He didn't recognize the name, but he suspected that Dean & DeLuca was an American brand. He felt inordinately pleased that Alfred had thought to have American chocolates shipped out for him. It didn't explain the boy's oddly avoidant behavior, but it reassured Arthur that he wasn't the only one who still cared.

Rum cordials had never tasted so sweet. He savored a few bites before searching for the other boy.

Eventually he found Alfred alone in the library. No doubt his Hufflepuff friend had other places to be, given that Arthur had seen her kissing Francis in the hallways an hour earlier.

Alfred looked up as the English boy approached. The room was nearly empty on Valentine's Day, so he didn't have to worry about who saw them talk.

"Thank you for the chocolates," Arthur said with a hesitant smile.

"Wasn't from me," Alfred replied with a careless shrug. The American immediately returned to his homework, treating the other boy like he wasn't even there.

And with that, Arthur felt his heart plummet. He beat a silent and hasty retreat, mortified that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Even worse, after that debacle he was almost positive that Alfred didn't care about him in the slightest.

The rum cordials suddenly tasted more bitter than sweet.

When Arthur saw Alfred's cheerful grin as the Slytherin caught the snitch in the next Quidditch game—winning an easy victory over the Ravenclaws—he realized that Alfred couldn't be faking his indifference. The boy had never been very good at hiding his feelings, so there was no way he could keep heartbreak so well hidden. Arthur didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to suspect he was the only one who still carried a torch.

For better or worse, Arthur had to know for sure.

* * *

Arthur looked at the curvy potion bottle with a healthy dose of skepticism, suddenly doubting the wisdom of relying on Kiku's cleverness for a good plan. He wanted to spy on Alfred, but he wasn't sure he needed to take it _quite_ so far.

"This isn't going to work," the Gryffindor said, pushing the potion away.

Kiku pushed it right back at him and gave him a stern look. The Ravenclaw arched an eyebrow and in that small gesture Arthur saw countless words of meaning.

Did he have a better plan?

He had to admit that he did not.

Kiku mimed drinking the bottle, and with a sigh, Arthur did just that.

He felt... strange as the potion took effect. With a shudder, he realized that he was shorter, but his hair was longer. He patted his forehead and felt that his eyebrows had nearly disappeared. His normal robes hung a bit loose, even in the chest, although by all rights they should have felt tighter there at least.

Arthur grabbed a handful of his newly lengthened hair, perplexed by the strange sensation. He had prepared for the... other changes... but it had never really occurred to him that he might have longer hair.

"Do you know how to style hair?" he asked Kiku.

Kiku glanced at the hair and shook his head helplessly.

Arthur found some of the ribbons used for scrolls and used them to tie his hair into two bunches on each side of his head. He just prayed that he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. Arthur squared his shoulders and prepared for some spying. It was a weekend when students could visit Hogsmeade and Arthur knew exactly where Alfred would be.

* * *

In a careful balancing act, Alfred carried a heaping platter of sweets to his table at Honeyduke's Sweetshop. Other students went to Hogsmeade Village for the Butterbeer, but Alfred came for the sweets. He dropped the plate in front of Madeleine and plopped down across from his Hufflepuff friend. She gave the various options a discerning glance and picked out a chocolate frog and peppermint toad to eat. Then she rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

"Mhut?" Alfred asked, his mouth already stuffed full of treacle fudge. He swallowed and reassured her, "Don't worry, I'm going to finish it all."

She shook her head and smiled. "I don't doubt it."

"Besides, sugar helps me do better at Quidditch," Alfred said as he took a bit of the delicious cauldron cake. He offered a forkful to Madeleine.

"Is that why you keep winning?" she asked before taking a bite of the cake.

"Nope. It's because of my awesome skills!"

Madeleine laughed again and brushed back the curly hair that always fell in front of her face. "I think you're spending too much time with Gil. It's starting to rot your brain just like those sweets will rot your teeth."

"Are you kidding? My teeth are perfect." Alfred grinned and showed off his toothy white smile.

Madeleine smiled back. She glanced to the side and then returned to their conversation, restarting an old topic of conversation. "I still think you should go to the Ball, you know. This might be your only year here and it's such a sight to see."

Alfred shrugged. "I'm not going by myself. And unless you want to lend me Francis, there aren't a whole lot of options."

"Don't be silly, Al. You can just ask any third-year and I'm sure she'll say yes. They can only go if they attend with an older student."

Alfred widened his eyes in feigned horror. "You want me to lead on some poor 13 year-old? Dang, Maddie, I thought _I_ was the sneaky one."

She snorted. "You couldn't sneak your way out of a paper bag. But if you prefer an older student, you _could_ just ask that person behind you who's been staring at you since you walked in."

Alfred whipped his head over his shoulder and saw a Hogwarts student with blond pigtails bury her head behind a book. He couldn't see her face, but he bet that she was blushing based on the red tinge of her ear tips.

The American pushed back his chair, stood up, and sauntered up to the spying girl. She lowered her book as he approached. Just as he had guessed, her face was bright scarlet.

"Are you spying on me?" he asked cheerfully.

She frowned and shook her head furiously. "Of course not! I was just watching in horror because I didn't think it was humanly possible to eat that much food."

Alfred laughed. "Nothing is impossible for Alfred F. Jones!"

"It makes me wonder why you don't have a date for the Ball," she replied tartly, proving that she _had_ been eavesdropping on his conversation.

"Well, do you?" he retorted. Alfred normally didn't find girls particularly attractive, but there was something fascinating about how this one paired a sharp tongue with innocent blushes. And he liked the intelligence that flashed in her bright green eyes.

"Uh..." she said. She glanced away and her flush deepened as she set down her book.

The American grinned. "I didn't think so. So what do you say?"

"I... um..." She looked up and there was something very familiar in her expression, but Alfred couldn't quite place it. He gave her his best pleading expression.

"Alright," she agreed with a small shake of her head. Then she crossed her arms and delivered an ultimatum with a sharp glance. "But you had better know how to dance."

"I'm a great dancer!" Alfred replied with an easy grin. It was true for a certain value of 'dance.' No one flailed on the dance floor quite like Alfred.

She gave him a dubious look to let him know that she had seen right through his lies, but she didn't back down. "We'll see about that. Meet me outside the Ravenclaw dorm at 9 o'clock sharp and wear something nice."

"Sure thing, miss...?"

"Alice."

* * *

As he had promised, Alfred finished his mountain of chocolates. Behind him he heard Alice rush off sometime later, cursing under her breath. According to Madeleine, she had glanced down at her watch and left in such a hurry that she forgot her book.

Alfred walked over to her table and grabbed it, thinking that he might have a chance to return it if he saw her in the hallways. As he picked up the book, his gaze chanced upon Alice's tea cup. In the dregs he saw a squiggly line and a feline. The images tickled a memory at the back of his mind, but Madeleine called to him from the front of the store, derailing his train of thought.

Eventually he dropped the book onto his desk in his room. His room had been messy to begin with, so Alfred didn't notice that it was a little messier. And he certainly didn't notice that some of his potion ingredients were missing.

* * *

After a mad dash back to Hogwarts, Arthur closed the door to Kiku's room behind him just as the effects of the potion began to dissipate. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he wasn't switching genders in the middle of a hallway.

"You weren't joking about the 3-hour time limit," Arthur muttered as he caught his breath. He had to run most of the way back to Hogwarts because he had spent too much time watching Alfred eat and smile and chat with his Hufflepuff friend. He was lucky he had even glanced at his watch when he did.

Kiku tilted his head to the side questioningly, gesturing in the direction of Hogsmeade.

"It went... well," Arthur replied, a little hesitant because he still wasn't sure if he had made the right decision in agreeing to Alfred's spontaneous invitation. He had enough potion to last for the dance, but now he needed proper clothes. He coughed and asked Kiku sheepishly, "Uh, you wouldn't happen to have a dress I could wear to the Ball?"

The Ravenclaw boy gave him a ridiculously knowing look and pulled out a shimmering green dress.

Arthur stared. It was a pretty dress and more than adequate for his purposes, but it raised several questions in his mind about his shy friend. He decided that ignorance was the better option. As long as it helped him spy, he really didn't want to know why Kiku kept women's clothing around.

After he returned to his room, Arthur carefully stored the curvy bottle of Nyo Potion into a sock at the back of his dresser drawer. He really didn't want anyone—especially his annoying cousin—to realize that he kept a potion around to turn him into a girl for three hours at a time.

As he heard steps pounding up the dormitory stairs, Arthur slammed the drawer shut and rushed over to his desk, pulling out his textbook so he could look like he was studying instead of hiding potions from prying eyes.

Peter burst into the room waving a handful of potion ingredients.

"Look what I found!" he shouted excitedly. He dropped them onto Arthur's desk. His look of triumph slowly melted away as Arthur—who didn't recognize the ingredients at all—continued to stare at them blankly.

"Gah! You're terrible at potions," Peter muttered. "These are ingredients for a _love_ potion. And do you want to guess where I found them?"

Arthur shook his head mutely, though he had a sinking suspicion.

"The Slytherin seeker's room," Peter said, confirming Arthur's worst fears.

Arthur stared at the rum-flavored chocolates sitting next to him with an expression of growing horror. No wonder he had been so infatuated with Alfred over the past few weeks. All this time, he had been dosing himself with a love potion. It was brilliant and evil and so very Slytherin.

Despite Peter's indignant squawks, Arthur pushed the younger boy out of his room. He needed time to think. The Gryffindor boy sorted through all of the opportunities Alfred had to give him a love potion. The night he had gotten very drunk, Alfred could have easily slipped a potion into his drink or his coffee the next morning. Even Alfred's Christmas gift could have contained a love potion.

Arthur felt like he was going to be sick. He didn't know what twisted game the other boy was playing, but he intended to find out.

* * *

It was a sunny day and relatively warm by late February standards, so Alfred should have been practicing for his final match and his chance for Quidditch glory. There was only one problem.

He couldn't find the snitch.

The whole point of Quidditch was to spend the entire game searching for the snitch, but he wasn't supposed to have trouble finding it _before_ he even started practicing. As he dug around in the boxes in the locker room, the training snitches continued to elude his capture. They weren't where they were supposed to be. He wondered if one of the other teams had hidden the snitches to make practice more difficult for him.

Honestly, he thought that Arthur might be enough of a competitive jerk to try it. Alfred frowned as he thought about his rival. It pissed him off to even think about Arthur.

A flash of gold and a bushy red tail in the doorway caught his attention.

His snitch was being stolen by a fox.

"What the... fox?" he muttered. Still wondering what the hell was going on, Alfred chased after the fox. He ducked under the stadium seats, dashed along the path to the castle, and ended up in front of the stables for the magical animals. Oh great, his snitch was being stolen by a _magical_ fox.

Alfred pushed open the stable doors cautiously, unsure what to expect inside. Whatever he imagined, it definitely wasn't Arthur leaning against a stall door with a snitch in his hand. But that was exactly what he found.

The American blinked and added together the pieces. "Wait, you're an animagus?" he asked, his curiosity briefly winning out over his animosity for the other boy.

Arthur scoffed. "Of course not. That was a kitsune. He's been here since my first year."

"Alright, well, it's nice that your kitsune friend wants to help you win by stealing the snitch, but I need that back so I can beat you." Alfred said as he calmly strode forward, planning to snatch the snitch from Arthur's hand so he could go back to practicing and not waste any more time. But before he could reach him, the older boy tossed the snitch into the air. A flash of gold glimmered overhead as it immediately hid somewhere in the stable. Alfred groaned.

"You better help me find that," he muttered as he started glancing around the room. It was bad enough trying to find a snitch in the open air. A room filled with nooks and crannies and magical beasts was going to be a complete headache. He sighed and started with the hayloft, doing his best to ignore Arthur.

Arthur followed him up the ladder. "Why do you have the ingredients for a love potion in your room? And how long have you been slipping me amortentia?" he demanded, his voice lowered to as hiss as he reached the end of his accusation.

Alfred rolled his eyes and turned around to face the other boy. He'd had it up to his neck with the other boy's accusations. "You always jump to conclusions and then assume the worst in other people. Those are your worst traits, you know," he said, adding, "that and rummaging around in other people's rooms."

He looked Arthur squarely in the eye and said with complete sincerity, "One, it wasn't for a love potion. And two, it wasn't for _you_." He didn't care what Arthur thought about him, but he didn't want the boy to spread rumors.

Arthur nodded and Alfred had the strange feeling that the other boy believed him. Arthur reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out the other training snitch. He gave it to Alfred and said softly, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever, Arthur."

The American grabbed the snitch. For just a second, he felt a heavy pit form in his stomach, an unhappy sensation caused by the pained sound of Arthur's voice. He pushed it away, reminding himself of Arthur's worst traits and habits. Arthur found fault with everything, especially Alfred's lack of manners and distaste for grammar. He complained like a crotchety old man. He couldn't cook to save in life—in fact, his cooking was probably _deadly_. He couldn't hold his liquor either. He believed in imaginary creatures.

Alfred repeated the litany of faults in his head, but as he stared at Arthur, his brain reminded him of the other boy's strengths. Arthur never gave up, no matter what the cost. He would walk across broken glass to get what he wanted. He was smart and clever and nimble. He had guts and daring, but he didn't take foolish risks. He was the kind of guy you wanted on your side in a pinch.

But Arthur was also a ruthless Quidditch competitor and Alfred had finally admitted to himself the truth of Arthur's earlier harsh words. It _was_ a terrible idea to date his rival immediately before a big match. Keeping that thought in mind, Alfred climbed out of the hayloft and returned to Quidditch practice without another word.

* * *

Arthur sat next to the unicorn foal and his flying mint bunny friend as he flipped through his potions book. He had memorized the list of love potion ingredients and now was trying to find recipes that used the same spells. After thirty minutes, he found his answer under the letter 'H'.

A hate potion revealed the worst traits and habits of a particular person to the drinker. It used the same ingredients as a love potion, but mixed in reverse order.

The description of the potion's effects at the bottom of the page noted that the hate potion was recommended by the Daily Prophet's advice column for witches and wizards who were emotionally attached to a person who did not return their feelings. It couldn't make someone _completely_ lose their feelings for a loved one, but it did show the drinker the person's worst traits and habits, thus discouraging them from creating a relationship with that person.

The English boy slowly closed his book and leaned against the back of the stall. He felt relieved that Alfred's indifference was magically induced. Even better, a hate potion was targeted to a single person. Alfred might hate Arthur for the moment, but none of his feelings would transfer to 'Alice'.

Arthur grinned. Perhaps it wasn't quite the dance date he had expected, but if attending as a girl was what it took to go with the person he fancied, he would take his chances.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Arthur, after Quidditch practice, Alfred also spent part of the afternoon with his nose buried in a textbook. First he looked up two symbols in a Divinations book. He had been wrong the whole time about the symbols he saw in Arthur's tea cup. They weren't a cat and a squiggly line—they were a serpent and a lion. And that told him something very important about 'Alice'. He looked in his potions book next and found the answer he was looking for under the letter 'N'.

Nyo potion, full name Nyotaika potion, transformed the drinker into the opposite sex. Apparently it had been invented in Japan for reasons Alfred really didn't want to know. On the other hand, polyjuice potion took a month to brew, so it was the faster choice for someone who wanted to do a little spying.

Alfred probably should have felt offended that Arthur had decided to stalk him, but he found it hard to be upset when Arthur had unintentionally found a way for them to go to the Ostara Ball together, which was what the American had wanted all along.

With a broad grin, Alfred threw out the rest of his hate potion bottles.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Arthur says 'thank you' for the rum cordials. His birthday's in April if you want to send more. Also, could you send another set of dress robes? I think my last pair got eaten by a giant squid._

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Smarties Chocolate Beans" is an old name for (British) Smarties, but I've used it here so they don't get confused with the Smarties sold in America. For curious Americans, they're similar to M&Ms, but with a harder shell. For curious Britons, Smarties sold in the U.S. are colorful little sugar pellets similar to what you put in a Pez dispenser, but softer and sweeter. Mmm... colorful sugar.
> 
> For the record, rum cordials are real and delicious. (But also nonalcoholic.)
> 
> The emotions and motivations in this chapter are all over the map, so if you want a little emotional cheat sheet, it goes something like this:
> 
> Alfred:  
> Ugh, geez. Arthur doesn't want to date me in public.  
> Well, you know what? Screw him. I'm just going to drink a hate potion.  
> Lalala~ I don't care about him. Lalala~  
> Hey, random new girl. I'm totally over Arthur so I'll go out with you.  
> Yep, Arthur's still a jerk. Total jerk.  
> Wait, him being unhappy makes me unhappy. Goddammit.  
> Oh. Oooh. I just realized something. Hehehe.  
> Let's who the real sneak is now, 'Alice.'
> 
> Arthur:  
> I should just buck up and apologize.  
> Well, that didn't work as well as I expected.  
> Alfred seems different.  
> Why is he so indifferent? I must know. Spy time!  
> I was thinking a new hairdo, but I suppose a new gender also works.  
> Two hours as a girl and I've already got a date. Wow.  
> A love potion? No wonder I was completely obsessed!  
> Oh, wait, never mind.  
> A hate potion? No wonder he was completely indifferent.  
> Hmmm. This seems like the perfect job for 'Alice.'


	12. The Ostara Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yule Ball knock-off time!

Arthur rummaged through his dresser, doubled checked his book satchel, and glanced under the bed. No matter where he looked, he couldn't find his Modern Magical History book. He knew he had a tendency to lose his possessions, but this was just ridiculous. Arthur needed the book for an essay and there weren't any available copies in the school library.

He searched his desk again and tried to remember where he'd seen the book last. With a sinking feeling, he remembered that he had taken it with him when he stalked Alfred in Hogsmeade, but in his rush to leave, he had completely forgotten his book.

He groaned and sent his owl to Honeyduke's Sweet Shop to see if they still had the book. He left the window open so Merlin could fly right in with their return message.

After checking his dresser a third time, Arthur realized that Alfred could have grabbed the book. He was suddenly grateful he never wrote his name in his books. It seemed sacrilegious to write anything in his books.

Merlin returned with a message confirming that his book wasn't at Honeyduke's. Arthur sighed. Given his luck, he was almost positive that Alfred had picked up the book.

Arthur made sure the door was closed and then checked the level of his Nyo potion. He had enough for another excursion and he _needed_ his book.

In his best cursive, Arthur sent Merlin off with another note. If Alfred had the book, he was going to meet him at the library. Some traitorous part of his heart was thrilled to be spending time with Alfred, but his more sensible lobal regions reminded him that he needed to be careful to maintain the charade.

One hour later, Arthur—wearing his 'Alice' disguise—found himself waiting anxiously at a library table. With a furtive glance, he spotted Alfred across the room. The American caught his gaze and smiled.

Alfred strode forward, waving happily, and he dumped Arthur's book on the table. He plopped into the seat across the table and grinned.

"Hey, Alice. I would've returned it earlier, but you're kind of hard to find."

"Thank you," Arthur replied. Hoping that Alfred wouldn't start to wonder why no one knew a Ravenclaw named 'Alice' he immediately sought a new topic of conversation. He spotted Alfred's book. "Are you studying magical beasts?" he asked, pointing to the book.

Alfred laughed. "No, I just wanted to look something up about kidoonies."

"Kitsunes," Arthur corrected automatically.

"So, they are real?" the American asked as he tilted his head to the side. "I checked my books and asked around, but no one seemed to know what I was talking about."

"They wouldn't be covered in the regular books. Hold on a tick," Arthur said. He pushed back his seat and crossed over to the magical beasts section. He grabbed a book that he knew had a few pages dedicated to kitsunes and brought it back to Alfred.

"Thanks."

The American quickly paged through the book. Arthur watched the other boy out of the corner of his eye. Alfred raised his eyebrows in surprise as he began to read about the shapeshifting powers of kitsunes. They could adopt the form of a fox or a human and were intensely loyal to humans who had helped them in the past.

Alfred spoke up as he flipped to the next page. "Wow, this is so cool. Like a reverse animagus. You know, someone told me that there was a kitsune in the magical stables, but no one I've talked to seems to know anything about it."

Arthur carefully considered his response. He didn't want Alfred to connect 'Alice' to the kitsune, but he also didn't want Alfred to think that Arthur was a liar. He settled on a partial truth. "There was a rumor that Hogwarts planned to add a kitsune to the curriculum several years ago. But it never happened. The school decided that he must have run away to the Forbidden Forest."

"Yeah, but why would a shapeshifter go to the forest when he could blend in here?"

"Hmm," Arthur replied noncommittally, hoping that Alfred wouldn't push further. Underneath his clueless exterior, Alfred occasionally had moments of real insight. Or perhaps even a stopped clock was right twice a day. Even though he called Alfred an idiot, Arthur didn't really believe it. Alfred just practiced selective intelligence.

The American closed the book and leaned back in his chair. "Sometimes I wonder what animal I'd be if I became an animagus," he said. "I'd like to be an eagle. It would be fun to fly without a broomstick."

"I see you more as a turkey."

Alfred laughed. "Ouch, right in the kicker. Well, at least it's easy to guess what _you'd_ be." He grinned and pointed to her bunches. "Total bunny rabbit."

Arthur huffed and returned to his book. There was no way his animal form would be something as fluffy and innocuous as a hare. He'd always hoped in the back of his mind that he could be something truly amazing like a unicorn, but he wasn't going to tell Alfred _that_. He checked his watch and breathed a sigh of relief when he confirmed that he still had nearly two hours before the potion wore off.

He halfheartedly wrote a few lines in his essay, then slyly looked up to see if Alfred was still staring at him. He was. It was perhaps the first time Arthur had seen a pensive and thoughtful expression on Alfred's face. He found that he liked the image very much.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Arthur offered.

Alfred grinned. "Hey, they're worth a sickle at least."

"More like leprechaun gold. It seems perfect at first and then—poof!—gone."

The American glanced down at the table and Arthur could tell he had struck a nerve. He hoped that Alfred wasn't growing annoyed at Alice's quips because he was really looking forward to dancing together at the school formal in a fortnight. Before he could think of something to soothe over the unintentional slight, Alfred piped up.

"It's funny. I was just thinking something like that," he said. "I guess the only way to know if something is real is to wait and see if it lasts."

Arthur glanced at the other boy out of the corner of his eye. He was burning up with curiosity, because it sounded like Alfred was talking about _them_. "Bad breakup?" he asked hesitantly.

Alfred shrugged. "I guess. I don't know."

"You're not sure if you broke up? How could you not know?" Arthur retorted.

The American absentmindedly drew circles on the desk with his fingers. He sighed and started fiddling with his quill. "We were never very good at talking," he explained. "And, just... well, yeah." He rubbed the back of his head.

"I can see what you mean about having trouble communicating. So who was it? Anyone I know?" Arthur pried, hoping that Alfred would fill in more details. Alice wouldn't know the answer, so it seemed like a logical next question for her to ask. Given that Alfred was willing to talk about their secret relationship, he worried about how much the other boy would disclose.

Alfred glanced to both sides, checking to see if anyone was nearby. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Maybe. Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course," Arthur replied as he leaned forward, terrified that Alfred would share details of their secret relationship with what he believed to be a random student that he had only met twice.

Alfred grinned. "So can I."

Arthur rolled his eyes and pretended to swat Alfred across the shoulder even though he was secretly pleased that Alfred had kept his promise. They shifted to lighter topics and Arthur remembered how much he enjoyed simply relaxing with Alfred. Other people reacted poorly to his often dark and snarky humor, but the sarcastic comments rolled over Alfred like water off a duck's back. The American treated everything like a grand joke, so naturally he didn't take Arthur's grumpiness seriously. And on the rare occasions when Arthur was honest with himself, he realized that he didn't feel particularly grumpy when he was around Alfred. The other boy's good humor was a slight bit infectious.

The English boy closed his textbook with real regret as he reached the time limit on his potion. Still, at least he would see Alfred again soon enough at the Ostara Ball. His stomach did an unpleasant flip as he started to worry—should he confess his subterfuge after the dance or allow the lies to continue building? More importantly, he wondered how Alfred would react when he learned the truth.

* * *

Alfred spent some time checking the etiquette books to see if they had any advice for the type of corsage he ought to buy for the female version of his on-again-off-again sorta-boyfriend rival. Surprisingly, the books described the proper use for at least fifty types of silverware, but they couldn't answer his simple question.

He huffed and decided to go with roses because Arthur appreciated the classics. But Alfred had to add his own special touch, so he used a spell to dye the roses blue.

His midnight blue waistcoat and trousers felt itchy, but even Alfred had to admit that he looked dashing with his bowtie and dressy cape. He put one of the blue roses in his label so that everyone would know that he and 'Alice' were together. He made a last-ditch attempt to straighten his bowtie and then rushed over to the Ravenclaw dorms.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" the door asked him as he approached.

"Uh, they both belong in Ravenclaw?" Alfred replied. He wasn't surprised that Ravenclaw used riddles instead of passwords.

"Wrong," a voice said behind him lightly. He turned around to see Alice decked out in a shimmering green dress. She still had her hair in her usual pigtails. Alfred smiled, assuming it was because Arthur didn't know how to style long hair.

"I like the color," Alfred replied cheerfully as he offered Alice a blue rose to wear on her wrist. He noted that she had arrived from the direction of the Prefect's bathroom, but he decided not to comment. He didn't want Arthur to know that he'd realized the gig was up when it was so much more fun to tease the other boy.

"Because of Slytherin?" she asked.

"Because it matches your eyes."

She rolled her eyes. "You're unbearably sappy," she said, offering her arm so they could walk together to the dining hall, which had been converted into a ballroom for the night. Even so, Alfred could see her smile slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"So what's the correct answer?" he asked, still curious about the riddle.

"There is no answer. The proper response is silence. Wisdom is about knowing what you don't know."

Alfred scoffed. "Oh come on, that's ridiculous. There _has_ to be an answer."

"Fine, fine. If you want a solution, it's because they both come with inky quills."

They reached the dining hall and Alfred felt a thrill of excitement to see the room so converted. As he watched the students in colorful robes dance beneath a starry sky, Alfred was glad that Madeleine had convinced him to come. He spotted his Hufflepuff friend and Francis waltzing together expertly. Her crimson dress shined like a ruby under the soft, twinkling lights while Francis managed to make his golden dress robes look elegant instead of tacky. Kiku and his date were both wearing dress robes that resembled kimonos.

Alfred realized that it was one night of the year when students could wear whatever colors they wanted, no matter their house affiliation. No wonder Arthur wasn't worried that someone would realize that Alice wasn't a student. She could be a member of any house and she could be any year between four and seven. No one would recognize her, but no one would say anything because they would just assume that she was a different house and a different year.

The American grinned, impressed yet again by Arthur's cleverness. He stood at the edge of the dance floor and gawked at the dancing couples, wishing briefly that he knew ballroom dances.

Tired of waiting for Alfred to move, Alice pulled him onto the dance floor. She automatically took the lead and tried to show Alfred how to dance. Alice was a skilled dancer, but Alfred couldn't stop stepping on her feet. They made a circuit of the room, bumping into a few other couples along the way.

"Alice, I have a confession," the American whispered. "I can't dance."

"I can tell," she retorted as Alfred trod on her foot again. She pulled Alfred to the calm at the center of the dance floor. "Just step right-left-right-left-right-left," she said, counting off each beat for Alfred. "Don't look at your feet, look at me."

The American followed her count. After a few moments they managed to mesh their rhythms. As Alfred moved his feet to the beat, he realized that if he kept his feet under him he didn't have to worry about stepping on Alice's toes. She smiled at him encouragingly and the warmth in her eyes warmed him from his head to his toes. In any form, Arthur looked best when he smiled.

The orchestra played for another half hour before a wizard rock band replaced them. At that point, the dance floor filled with students jumping and gyrating. Alfred joined in on their wild dancing and he whooped as the band played a tribute to Quidditch. He could tell that Alice preferred the waltzing, but Alfred like freestyle dancing. No one could say he didn't know the moves.

Alice looked bored, so at the end of the song, Alfred suggested taking a break. They walked to edge of the dance floor. Alice nodded at Kiku, who gave her a little thumbs-up before returning his attention to his dark-haired date. Alfred didn't recognize the young woman, but if his suspicions about Kiku were right, she probably wasn't what she seemed either.

Alice pulled Alfred close and readjusted his bowtie. "You really don't know how to tie these do you?" she asked as she expertly retied it.

"Wow, you're really good at that. You know, for a girl," Alfred replied with a cheerful grin.

She rolled her eyes and then tensed as Francis and Madeleine approached.

"Maddie!" Alfred shouted happily. "Why didn't you tell me there would be wizard rock? They're so much cooler than an orchestra."

"Bonjour, mon lapin," Francis said as he introduced himself to Alice.

"What did you call me?" Alice asked sharply.

"Your couettes, they give you the appearance of a rabbit," the French boy explained, gesturing to Alice's pigtails for emphasis.

"Alfred, don't you think it's strange that Arthur isn't here?" Madeleine asked.

Alfred grinned. It was obvious that his friends had cottoned on to Arthur's ruse, but he was having too much fun leading Arthur around by the nose to admit that he knew that Arthur was lying to him. Fortunately, he had a great deal of experience playing the idiot.

"I'm pretty sure I saw Arthur not too long ago," Alfred said. It was true. He _had_ seen Arthur just a few seconds ago. Standing right next to him.

"Perhaps it was just someone who looked like him? Anyone with blond hair and green eyes would look like Arthur," Madeleine replied. "It is a rather unusual combo. I don't think I've seen anyone who met that description other than Alice here."

"It's not half as strange as blond hair and violet eyes," Alice retorted. "Is that eye color even natural?"

The Canadian smiled. "It is. Although I've heard there are lots of ways to create a magical disguise. Some more... unusual... than others."

"Hey! I just realized that we're wearing the colors for all of the houses," Alfred said as a distraction, taking advantage of his reputation for saying random stuff out of the blue. He grinned widely as the other three gave him surprisingly similar looks of exasperation. But they stopped talking about magical disguises, so Alfred considered it a victory for his special brand of clueless inanity.

After a bit of protest, Alice let Francis redo her hair into "something presentable." He spent a few minutes braiding her hair into a single plait that started at the top of her head and elegantly cascaded down her back.

Alfred smiled to himself, hoping that Arthur wouldn't notice that it was a _French_ braid.

* * *

Arthur had to escape from Madeleine and Francis. He was sure that they suspected and their hints to Alfred wouldn't stay subtle for very long. He was just lucky that the American was too oblivious to understand what they were trying to tell him.

He suggested visiting the refreshment table and Alfred readily agreed. Food was always a good choice for distracting Americans.

Arthur took a sip of the punch and quickly recognized the taste of firewhisky. Someone had spiked the bowl. He guessed that Antonio and Gilbert were the culprits, since they had already disappeared from the room. He warned Alfred, but not before the young man had taken a full drink. The American nearly coughed up the liquid when it burned down his throat like fire.

"Wow, that's strong." He looked at the glass and then took another sip. "But I think I like it." Alfred finished drinking a full glass. He grinned at Arthur and pulled him back to the dance floor. "Let's keep dancing! I feel like dancing."

"If you call that 'dancing'," Arthur groused, though he let Alfred drag them toward the clump of dancing students. With loud students surrounding them on all sides, he wouldn't have to worry about Madeleine and Francis passing any more hints to Alfred. Conversation was nearly impossible with the loud band so close by.

He soon noticed that the full glass of firewhisky-spiked-punch had a strong effect on Alfred, though Arthur couldn't decide if being tipsy made the other boy a better dancer or not. His movements were a little looser, which actually made his dancing seem more natural.

Arthur watched the clock carefully, still debating whether he should tell Alfred the truth. With the time limit on the Nyo potion, his time was running out.

He _wanted_ Alfred to know, even though he worried that the other boy would be angry at the lies. Then again, Alfred had been lying in his own way with the hate potion. Apparently when confronted with relationship troubles, Arthur disguised his true worries and Alfred lied to himself. It was a recipe for a rocky relationship, but Arthur had always known that things weren't going to be _easy_. Being together hadn't solved their communication problems, but being apart had only made it worse.

At a quarter to midnight, Arthur decided that he had to confess.

Alfred didn't even complain about leaving the dance a few minutes early. Instead he quietly followed Arthur to the Prefect's Bathroom, where Arthur had left his robes before drinking the potion. The English boy took a deep breath before using the password to open the door. He expected at any moment that Alfred would finally add together the clues and realize the deception. The American gave him an expectant look, but said nothing.

"I, um... look, I've been less than truthful about who I am," Arthur began to explain, finding that his natural eloquence had deserted him.

"Are you a kitsune?" Alfred asked with a grin.

"What? No," Arthur replied, thrown off track by the random question.

"Are you my mother?" The American giggled, his grin widening.

"No," Arthur said, rolling his eyes as he realized that Alfred was turning the whole thing into a joke. He wished the other boy could be serious for once. "I suppose it will be easier to show you," he said. He moved into the separate changing area and slipped off the dress. Kiku had been very kind to lend it to him, so he didn't want to rip the dress when he changed back. Arthur donned his normal robes and glanced down at his pocket watch. He took a deep breath, hoping that Alfred would react calmly.

Five minutes and one transformation later, Alfred stepped out of the changing area. He saw Alfred's robes scattered across the floor, leading directly to the large bath tub. The boy's glasses sat at the edge of the tub. The American himself swam in the middle of the water, happily playing with the never-ending bubbles.

He looked up as Arthur approached. "Hey, Arthur! Glad to see the eyebrows again. I think I missed them," he said, smiling as he casually lifted some of the bubbles to his forehead, creating his own bubble-brows.

Arthur gaped. He hoped for a calm reaction, but this was entirely too calm.

"You knew all along," he said with dawning comprehension. "You... you twat!"

Alfred swam to the edge of the pool. "I thought I was a prat?" he asked cheerfully as he lifted himself out. Arthur glanced down reflexively and he couldn't decide if he was relieved or not that Alfred was still wearing his boxers.

"You can be both." Arthur crossed his arms.

Alfred frowned as he used a spell to dry out his boxers and his hair. He slipped on his robes—for which Arthur was grateful because he didn't think he could manage to have a meaningful conversation while staring at Alfred's bare chest—but left his glasses sitting by the edge of the tub.

"I don't get why you're mad," Alfred said as he stepped closer to Arthur. "I had a fun time and I thought it was a clever way for us to go together."

"I'm annoyed because I spent the past month thinking you hated me!" Arthur snapped. He glared, wishing that he didn't have to tilt his head slightly upward to stare into Alfred's eyes. Which were very, very blue without his spectacles in the way.

The American's expression softened. "I tried, you know," he said.

"Yes, the hate potion. I _do_ know. You're not the only one with a potions textbook."

Alfred started laughing. "We're such idiots," he said in-between breaths. With a final chuckle, he lowered his head, resting his forehead casually on Arthur's shoulder. After a second's pause, Arthur raised his hand and gingerly threaded his fingers through the other boy's hair. It felt good to have Alfred leaning on him. He wasn't as touchy-feely as Alfred, but he had still missed the soft touches and gentle nudges. He said the first thing that popped into his head, hoping that he could convince Alfred to give it another go:

"We should try this again, without the potions."

"But I'm _good_ at potions and kind of sucky at relationships," Alfred replied, his face still buried in Arthur's shoulder. "And there's the whole Quidditch thing."

Arthur lowered his hand and took a deep breath. He had been thinking about their rivalry and of course he still wanted to win, but the sport suddenly seemed less important when he felt the warmth of Alfred's body next to his and could hear the sound of his own heart thumping in his ears. Quidditch had barely crossed his mind for the past month because he had been so focused on winning Alfred back. Surprised that he hadn't realized it sooner, Arthur finally admitted to himself that he was more than a touch in love.

"Alfred, if I had to choose between you and a position on a Quidditch team—"

Alfred pressed two fingers against Arthur's lips to stop him from finishing his sentence. Alfred lifted his head and gave Arthur a serious look.

"Don't say it. I don't want to win 'cause you went soft."

Arthur quirked his lips. He gave Alfred's finger a little lick and watched with pleasure as the other boy quickly retracted his finger. Alfred looked surprised and more than a little turned on.

"What made you think I would pick you?" he retorted instead of finishing his sentence.

Alfred smiled. "Because I'd pick you too."

Arthur felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He always suspected that Alfred was a romantic sap, but it was nice to have it confirmed. He suddenly felt that maybe they had a fighting chance together. "I promise that whatever happens after the final match, I'll come talk to you first and we'll... we'll work things out," he said.

"Pinky promise?"

Arthur nodded and they entwined their pinky fingers. Arthur wasn't surprised that a childish person like Alfred wanted a pinky swear.

Alfred grinned. "Okay, now that that's all settled... do you want to come back to my room and make out like bunny rabbits?"

Perhaps he wasn't quite so childish after all.

* * *

At the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory, Arthur debated the wisdom of walking into the Slytherin dormitory. But he decided that the likelihood of anyone being in the common room an hour after the Ostara Ball had ended was...

Alfred opened the door.

...apparently pretty good. Gilbert and Antonio stared at them in shock as Arthur helped Alfred across the threshold. Then the two Slytherins began to smirk.

Gilbert whistled. "Well, this is a surprise."

Alfred smiled back as he wrapped an arm around Arthur. "Hey, guys! Arthur and I are dating but don't tell anyone 'cause it's a secret."

"Shouldn't you two be in bed right now?" Arthur asked Gil and Toni, annoyed that his plan to slip into the dorm undetected had failed so spectacularly.

"Francis wanted some 'alone time'," Antonio replied cheerfully.

"Alone time with Madeleine," Gilbert clarified.

"We thought that Alfred would be mad."

"Boy did we get that one wrong."

Alfred grinned when he pieced together what they were telling him. "Oh, hey, things are going great with Madeleine and Francis. That's great. Isn't that great, Arthur?"

"Peachy," Arthur replied, distracted as he watched Gilbert and Antonio warily. Deciding that he could deal later with whatever blackmail the two dreamt up, he kept walking and pulled Alfred up the stairs.

"Eager, ain'tcha?" Alfred said with a wide grin.

Arthur kicked the door shut with his foot. He roughly kissed Alfred as they stumbled to the closest bed. Alfred landed on his rump with a soft 'oof' and in seconds Arthur had found a comfortable position straddling his lap. Arthur's lips and tongue explored every delicious part of the other boy's mouth and neck and strong jaw line. He helped Alfred slip out of his robes and Alfred returned the favor.

In the soft moonlight, Alfred's bare chest looked gorgeous with just a thin layer of baby fat padding his lean muscles. Arthur suspected that his own pale skin appeared luminescent, but Alfred didn't seem to be complaining. Judging by his lust-filled gaze, the other boy seemed like what he saw _very much_.

Arthur leaned forward and left a bruising hickey on Alfred's neck. He wanted everyone to see that Alfred was _claimed_. As his lips sucked the skin, he slipped his hands down and tweaked Alfred's nipples, drawing a long and shuddering gasp from the young man.

Alfred sucked in a breath when he recovered. "Shit," he mumbled, glancing down at his boxers. He gave Arthur an adorably embarrassed look. "I'm real sorry, Artie. I thought I'd last longer."

"Don't be, love. That's no reason for us to stop," Arthur reassured him before kissing him hungrily, enjoying every second as he let his passions take the lead. Arthur felt pleasure racing through his veins like an electric spark. He gasped as Alfred repaid the nipple-tweaking favor, grinding himself up against the other boy.

Things went a little hazy as Arthur felt himself go over the edge. He spent a few moments resting comfortably in Alfred's arms before suggesting that they clean up. Arthur retrieved his robe from the floor, avoiding Alfred's eyes as he slipped it back on.

Alfred changed underwear and grabbed a pair of pajamas. He handed a pair of probably clean boxers to Arthur. They were too large, but better than nothing.

"I was kind of hoping I'd get to see you in a dress tonight," Alfred said wistfully as he plopped into his bed.

"You did see me in a dress," Arthur replied as he changed into the boxers. They pooled around his waist, nearly falling to the floor.

"No, not Alice, _you_. I bet you'd rock a dress with those legs," Alfred said, giving Arthur's legs a very appreciative look. "Maybe high heels," he added, half-closing his eyes as he imagined the mental picture.

Arthur glanced around the room looking for his trousers. He was pretty sure he had flung them in a particular direction, but it was a little hard to find his clothes in the messy room. He wanted to stay, but he was a little worried what his roommates would think if he didn't return from the ball. Still looking, he said, "Well, uh, I probably ought to go."

Alfred jumped out of bed and grabbed Arthur's wrist. "Artie, don't leave."

"Alfred, we live in the same castle."

"I know, I just... I want you here. Stay?"

"Alright, fine," Arthur huffed. "But I'm just doing this to make sure I don't get caught in the hallways after hours."

The English boy let himself be pulled into the bed. The American murmured his thanks as he buried his face into Arthur's shoulder. Despite his better judgment, Arthur gave in to the warm comfort and decided he might as well spend the night.

But so help him god, he was not going to let Alfred steal the sheets again.

* * *

As the midmorning sun lit up the room, Alfred stirred. He opened his eyes and then closed them immediately, his head aching from the bright light. He slowly realized that he held a sleeping Arthur in his arms, forcing him to confront a tricky dilemma. He wanted some of his own anti-hangover medicine to cure the aftereffects of the firewhisky, but he didn't want to jolt Arthur out of his peaceful slumber. Alfred suspected that Arthur hadn't been getting enough sleep lately, a suspicion bolstered by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that the normally early-to-rise Arthur was still sleeping as the light stretched across the room.

His head still aching, Alfred considered the options. He realized that Arthur was still wearing his robes, raising his hopes that Arthur's wand was in close reach. Sure enough, he slipped the wand out of the other boy's pocket and used it to levitate the potion into reach. After a sip, Alfred felt much better. He patted himself on the back for his brilliant problem-solving abilities.

Alfred spent the next half hour of drowsily listening to Arthur's soft snores and feeling the gentle warmth of the other boy's breath on Alfred's cheek. The snores stopped and the breath quickened as Arthur's eyes finally cracked open.

"Mornin' darling," the American said with a smile.

"Good morning," Arthur said with a cute little yawn.

Alfred admitted to himself, curled up in the warmth of the sunlit room, that he was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out the best way to stop Alfred from stealing the sheets is to curl up right next to him :)
> 
> For those who are wondering, "Ostara" (also written "Ēostre") is the Germanic pagan goddess from which Easter takes its name (just like Yule was the European festival that was later transformed into Christmas). I felt that if I was going to alter the Yule Ball into something else, this would be a good way to keep it true to the spirit of the books. According to the HP books, the kids get off a week for Easter, so it made sense to have the ball take place on the first Saturday of that break (i.e. 8 days before Easter). Maddie mentioned that the date moves around in March and April. That's because Easter is always the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox (March 20). (Yes, this is really the way you calculate Easter. No, I am not making this up.) So the earliest possible date for Easter is March 22 and the latest possible date April 25. Which means that the Ball ranges from March 14 to April 17. It also means that I have put way too much thought into this XD


	13. The Final Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was all leading up to this.

The Ostara Ball decorations were magicked away and the Great Hall was quickly restored to its primary function of feeding hungry students. Alfred joined the Slytherin trio for dinner, and that's when he felt reality come crashing down.

Gilbert glared at him as the American took his seat at the Slytherin dining table. "That was totally _not_ awesome, dude," Gilbert said with a stern shake of his head.

Alfred grimaced. He had been worried that his teammates would react poorly to seeing him and Arthur sneak into the Slytherin dorm the night of the dance. But before Alfred could explain himself, Antonio chimed in, "Yeah, we had to pay Francis a lot of money."

"Uh, what?" Alfred asked, confused. He turned to Francis, who didn't look annoyed with him at all. Actually, Francis looked pleased. Francis was in love with the concept of love so it made sense that Francis wouldn't be upset by a rivalry turned romance. The French boy would probably use the opportunity to continue pushing for a threesome. Or even worse, a foursome.

"Don't mind their little jealousies, they're merely upset they didn't win," Francis said, calmly reaching for dessert as he smirked at Gilbert and Antonio.

"I still say you cheated," Gilbert muttered.

"Mon ami, I assure you, Madeleine chose me."

"What does Madeleine have to do with this?" Alfred asked, still perplexed by his teammates' conversation. They seemed annoyed with Francis, but that didn't make any sense when _Alfred_ was the one dating a member of their rival team. He was sure they disliked Gryffindors far more than they disliked Hufflepuffs.

"She was Gilbert's choice in the pool," Antonio explained, which didn't actually explain anything. Alfred wondered when they could have visited a pool, unless they meant the large tub in the Prefect's Bathroom.

"Then Francis started dating her and ruined my awesome chances of winning," Gilbert added, with an annoyed huff.

"It's your mistake for betting on a girl," Francis chimed in. Francis finally took pity on poor, confused Alfred and explained that the Slytherin trio had bet ten galleons on Alfred's dating prospects, even selecting a different person and hoping to win the betting pool. Francis preened as he added, "I won because I chose Arthur. But of course, I will pay for drinks after the final match," he said, which mollified the other two.

Alfred laughed. He had been worried that his team would be mad and instead they had turned his dating life into a game. As a fan of reality television shows, he thoroughly approved. But one last question tickled at the back of his mind. He only knew two of the three bets. "Okay, I get Arthur and I can kind of understand Madeleine, but who the hell did you bet on, Toni?"

Toni grinned and pointed to the quiet Asian boy at the Ravenclaw table.

Alfred nodded, admitting to himself that Kiku wasn't a _bad_ choice. He just happened to be straight and probably not human. Alfred's gaze wandered over to the Gryffindor table where he spotted Arthur eating quietly. The halo of light that surrounded the other boy, illuminating his hair and slim figure was probably just Alfred's overactive imagination. Still, Alfred grinned to himself. He couldn't _wait_ to tell Arthur about the Slytherin trio's dating bet and watch as Arthur became adorably annoyed.

He turned his attention away from Arthur as the Slytherin trio started discussing the final Quidditch match. Alfred felt a thrill of excitement and a chill of apprehension run down his spine. He had spent his entire life preparing to be a star Quidditch player and now he found himself facing the test that really mattered. Slytherin had the lead in the point totals, but 60 points wouldn't be enough to guarantee victory.

Only Alfred could do that.

* * *

After the excitement of the Ostara Ball, the students had a one-week break from classes to celebrate Easter and enjoy the nice spring weather. Unfortunately, professors loved to give homework over the break and tests were coming up soon, particularly OWLs for the fifth years and NEWTs for the seventh years, making Easter break far less enjoyable than winter break.

Arthur found himself having to catch up in several subjects, given that recent events had proven a bit of a distraction. Arthur was naturally skilled at Herbology and Divination, so he didn't worry about those NEWTs. Instead he found himself with a lot of material to cover for the History of Magic and Ancient Runes. Fortunately, Arthur liked reading, so he was happy to spend most of the week with his nose buried in a book. It helped that whenever he wanted to take a break from reading, Alfred was more than happy to meet him in the Room of Requirement.

The room looked vastly different depending on which one of them entered first. If Arthur was the first to arrive, the room presented itself as a cozy library, complete with all the books he needed for his classes, a tea kettle over the fireplace, and a soft leather sofa. As the crackling fire warmed the room, Arthur could relax and contentedly study for class with a hot cup of chamomile tea. And of course, once Alfred arrived, they discovered that the sofa was marvelous for snogging and snuggling by the fire.

By contrast, Alfred's room was far less conducive to studying. His room had a large bed in the corner, an even larger television, and superhero posters covering every inch of wall. After several minutes of silent gawking, Alfred admitted that it was an exact replica of his bedroom back in the States. "How come no one told me about this place earlier?" he asked, falling backwards onto his bed with a happy sigh. "This is _perfect_."

"They erased it from the school records after someone used it to smuggle people into Hogwarts," Arthur replied as he examined the posters. Somehow he wasn't surprised that Captain America and Batman filled up most the walls. "Nearly Headless Nick mentioned it once after a bit too much ghostwine and I spent a few weeks hunting down references in the restricted section of the library."

"G-ghost w-wine...?" Alfred asked with a little shiver.

Arthur chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he promised. Then he distracted Alfred from ghosts the best way he knew how... by pulling him into a kiss. Before they were more than a few kisses in, Arthur pulled back, remembering another detail about the Room of Requirement—it was good at giving students what they wanted, down to the smallest details. "Once moment," he said, before walking over to the closet. Arthur smirked when he saw the choice of clothes inside. He lifted out a short nurse's outfit and showed it to Alfred.

The American gaped. "That's not in my closet back home," he hurriedly explained. His breath hitched as he watched Arthur pull off his robes and shimmy into the dress. The English boy tossed him a different outfit from the closet. It took Alfred a moment to understand that the short apron was supposed to be the _entire_ outfit and another moment to realize that Arthur wanted him to wear it. He caught Arthur's gaze and realized that they were going to have a _very nice_ study break indeed.

* * *

Eventually they sat on the bed and leaned against the wall, shoulders pressed together and fingers entwined. Arthur felt a brief sense of déjà vu, remembering the last time they had debated whether to keep their relationship secret. But a few things had changed since then; given that all of their friends knew and so did most of the Slytherin team, he didn't think he had any chance of keeping it _completely_ secret. The real question was what he should do about his cousin—who was still convinced that Alfred had been slipping Arthur a love potion—and the Gryffindor team.

Alfred had a suggestion: the truth, or at least, an edited version of the truth. "I guess you're just going to have to tell them what an awesome person I am and how you completely fell in love with me because I'm charming and cool and—"

"Ridiculously full of yourself," Arthur interrupted. Even if he did want to make the relationship public, he couldn't see himself being quite so effusive in his praise.

"But there's nothing wrong if they see us being friends, right?" Alfred said eagerly. "I mean, we can both study together and maybe do some Prefect things. That's normal, right? Normal friend stuff."

Arthur nodded slowly. They had successfully met together several times in the library with no one raising a fuss (although it likely helped to have Alfred's Hufflepuff friend and Kiku around to waylay suspicion.) And he could always point to their shared duties as Prefects. "You know, if anyone asks questions, I can say that the Headmaster is starting to become worried about the levels of animosity between the two houses and remind them that we Prefects are supposed to be role models."

"Hey, that's a good idea. Could we have kiss-a-Slytherin day?" Alfred asked with a sneaky grin.

Arthur turned his head to face Alfred and smirked. "I think I can manage that," he said, before pressing his lips against Alfred's. As far as Arthur was concerned, every day was kiss-a-Slytherin day.

They spent more time together in public and it did draw a few stares, but the gossip died out after a few days when students found more interesting things to talk about, like the Ravenclaw who broke several glass orbs when he stormed out of Divinations class and the Hufflepuff who discovered a rare and valuable collecting card in her chocolate frog package. Not to mention the duels and relationship woes that naturally occurred among 300-some students living in close quarters. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. They continued studying together in public... and kissing in private.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I'm glad you can make it to the final Quidditch game! Hogsmeade has a tavern that rents out rooms and they're connected to the Floo Powder Network. Be sure to wear green!_

_Love,_ _  
_Alfred_ _

* * *

The next three weeks went by either too fast or too slow, depending on Alfred's mood.

On the good days, he was excited to finally have a chance to show off in front of recruiters looking to find players for professional Quidditch teams. It was the entire reason he had come to Hogwarts and even if he had gotten a little distracted along the way, he was still focused on becoming seeker for a great team.

On the bad days, he worried about not being offered a spot or finding himself on a team far away from Arthur. He could see that Arthur worried about it too, but there really wasn't anything to be done, so they avoided the topic. Alfred pushed the thought out of his mind and cheered himself up by convincing Madeleine to make chocolate-chip pancakes.

Before Alfred knew it, the day of the final Quidditch match arrived. Students and teachers packed the stands to watch Gryffindor and Slytherin vie for the Quidditch cup. He waved energetically to his parents—they were easy to spot in their neon green jackets, he really should have specified what _shade_ of green Slytherin used—then looked around for Madeleine and finally spotted her. She and her friends formed another pool of green, and they weren't the only ones. For the first time, Alfred realized he saw more then a scattering of students dressed in Slytherin colors, even students from other houses. He waved to Madeleine and she waved back before blowing a kiss to Francis.

Alfred shot a quick glance at Arthur. His rival gave him a sardonic look. Alfred still needed help reading the atmosphere, but he was pretty sure this look meant 'no, I am _not_ blowing you a kiss.' Although it could have been an invitation for a roll in the hay after the game. Sometimes with Arthur it was a little hard to tell.

Francis gave his team one last pep talk before they got ready to lift off the ground.

"Alfred, remember not to grab the snitch if they're leading by more than 70 points."

Gilbert scoffed. "Like that'll happen."

Alfred nodded. In the final Quidditch match, catching the snitch ended the game, but it earned a team only 15 points. The smaller reward served as a way to ensure that two teams couldn't tie and it also helped teams with weak seekers still successfully vie for the cup. Slytherin was leading by 60 points in the total tally, but that wasn't enough to ensure they'd win the cup. Scores could change rapidly from fouls or scoring quaffles, so Alfred would have to pay close attention, in addition to searching for the elusive golden snitch.

The game started with an unusually high number of fouls. The chasers locked brooms together and tossed out extra elbows. And only beaters had bats for aiming bludgers at other players, but Gilbert decided to get into the action himself by using his broom as a giant bat to knock a bludger into one of the Gryffindor beaters, successfully knocking the other player our. The referees tried to penalize him, until Gilbert pointed out that technically it _wasn't_ a foul, at least not yet. The refs grumbled, but admitted that he was correct.

The announcer breathlessly relayed the decision. "Well, folks, looks like we've just seen the invention of a new foul today. Not a surprising development from Slytherin. They'll probably call it 'Berting," he remarked, drawing laughter from the audience.

Gilbert laughed too, accepting the name suggestion as a compliment. 'Berting' would fit in with the list of Blagging, Blatching, Blurting, and Bumphing fouls. When the refs made a call, sometimes it was hard to hear which one had actually occurred.

As the Gryffindors took an early lead, Alfred kept one eye on the game to make sure he wasn't going to get hit by a ball or another player, and another eye out searching for the snitch. He watched the score, knowing that he had at least some measure of safety as long as the Gryffindor's lead remained below 50.

Alfred soared to the top of the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of the golden snitch. If he could find it, he could win the cup _and_ likely ensure a position on a professional team. And even if Arthur saw him go for it, the other boy couldn't catch the snitch yet because his team was still behind in the _total_ tally. A burst of sunlight through the clouds illuminated the left side of the field. At that moment, Alfred spotted a golden glimmer. He dived, speeding past brooms and balls in his single-minded effort to track the snitch. He grinned as the wind rushed past, feeling himself closing in on the snitch.

At the last possible moment, Arthur intercepted his path, blocking Alfred's view of the snitch for a critical second. Alfred dodged around the other seeker, but by that point the snitch had disappeared from view. He swore under his breath. Although he wasn't _mad_ at Arthur, the American was still upset that he had been denied his chance at glory. The announcer praised Arthur's blocking efforts and the Gryffindor fans cheered.

"You're not going to win that easily," Arthur remarked as he dodged a bludger with his normal easy grace.

Alfred smirked. "But I am going to win," he retorted.

They soon took separate paths—Arthur searching high and Alfred looking low. Closer to the ground he had to dodge more bludgers and players, but now he had a hunch that the snitch was going to stay close to the action this game. He made a circuit along the stands, smiling as he passed Madeleine and her fellow green-robed Hufflepuffs.

After two hours of searching for the snitch, Alfred suddenly felt a wave of confusion roll over him. He glanced around the stadium, trying to remember _where_ he had been looking and _what_ he was looking for. He knew he was searching for something, but the thought danced out of his reach. He shook his head a few times, trying to clear his thoughts.

A minute later Arthur flew next to him. "Go see the mediwizard," the boy whispered urgently, before flying off again.

Alfred frowned, still confused. He didn't think he was looking for a mediwizard, but he trusted Arthur, so he flew down to the medic's tent. Alfred scratched his head, trying to remember what he wanted as the mediwizard rushed to his side.

She took one look at him and recognized a confundus charm.

After a brief pause to remove the curse (which earned a rare foul for Gryffindor), Alfred returned to the game with renewed determination. He was going to win. He had to.

* * *

Arthur felt his heart race as the Gryffindor team finally managed a 50-point lead. He quickly glanced at Alfred to see if the Slytherin seeker had spotted anything. Alfred dived forward and Arthur raced after him, even though he suspected it might be a feint. The American suddenly swung out of the way, giving Arthur almost no notice as a bludger came hurtling forward. Arthur managed to avoid getting hit in the body, but the bludger still sent his broomstick spinning. It took a moment to clear his head.

Alfred took that opportunity to shoot straight up. Arthur wasn't sure if it was another feint, the same tactic Alfred had used in their first game, but he couldn't afford to be wrong. The Gryffindor seeker followed, angling his broomstick nearly vertical. He spotted the golden snitch ahead and realized that it was the real event. Alfred had a small lead, but Arthur had the advantage of a lighter body.

The next few seconds felt like an eternity. Arthur reminded himself to breathe as he stretched his hand to the sky. They were nearly side by side as they caught up with the snitch high above the stadium and the cheering crowds. At the last moment, Arthur darted ahead by a handbreadth. He closed his fist and as they pulled to a stop, soaring above the crowds, it took the Gryffindor seeker a moment to realize he had caught the snitch.

* * *

Back on the ground, the Gryffindors cheered wildly. Alfred tried to muzzle the feeling of disappointment welling in his stomach. He avoided Arthur's gaze. Once he managed to control his feelings, he would go over and congratulate Arthur, but he was still dealing with the aftermath of coming so close and having victory snatched away.

As Alfred fumed and then felt _bad_ about fuming, the Headmaster brought the Quidditch Trophy to the center of the field. The Gryffindor team eagerly crowded around as the red-garbed students in the stands cheered wildly. Alfred finally worked up the courage to glance at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. The other boy stood at the edges, looking moderately pleased, though a bit worried. Alfred took some comfort in the fact that Arthur wasn't celebrating as wildly as his teammates.

The Headmaster prepared to speak—no doubt ready to award the cup—but Francis interrupted. "Excusez-moi, I believe that belongs to us," he said, ambling up to the pitch with a confident grin.

"Don't they teach maths in Slytherin? We're clearly fifteen points ahead," one of the Gryffindors retorted, putting himself between Francis and cup.

"Ah, I happen to know that _we_ are fifteen points ahead because of those thirty points you owe us from our third match." Francis pulled a book out from his robe. "See, I checked the rules, and a team keeps their points if a match ends through no fault of their own." His gaze flickered to Arthur. "And the person who was punished for hexing Kirkland's broom in the third match was a Gryffindor, was he not?"

Alfred watched Arthur's expression shift from confusion to realization. He could see the rest of the Gryffindor team following the same mental path. Arthur must have told them about Peter's hex on the broom, but none of them had thought to check the rules to see if it made any difference in the final score. He could see Arthur mentally kicking himself.

"You could have mentioned the score change at the beginning of the game," the Headmaster remarked as he stroked his beard. "Is he right?" he asked the referees.

The referees pulled out their thick rule book. The audience grew silent as they watched the unfolding drama on the field. After a few minutes, the referees looked up and grudgingly confirmed that Francis was correct. Scores could be contested at any point before the trophy was awarded.

The Headmaster shrugged and handed Francis the trophy. "I suppose those are the rules, if you want to win in this manner..." he said.

"It's even more awesome to win the sneaky way," Gilbert said with a grin.

"Vive les serpents!" Francis shouted. Antonio grinned as he helped Francis lift up the trophy, holding it above their heads. A different (and smaller) section of the stadium started to cheer. Slytherins, as a house, didn't care _how_ you won. The important part was winning.

Alfred felt like it was his turn to feel shocked and a little torn. His team had won (which he had _wanted_ ), but they hadn't won because of his skill or daring flying. He felt his gaze drawn to Arthur. The American raised his hands in a helpless gesture, trying to wordlessly communicate that he had no idea that his teammates would snatch victory from the lion's jaws of defeat. Arthur gave a little shrug.

At that moment, Alfred noticed the headmaster watching them. "Alfred, would you mind coming to my office after you speak with the recruiters?" he said. Alfred nodded, before watching as the Headmaster went over to speak to Arthur. Even though Alfred wanted to stay and talk to Arthur, his teammates pulled him back to the Slytherin lockers for an impromptu celebration. Alfred joined them, but his heart wasn't in it.

It felt like his heart was still back on the field.

* * *

Arthur walked to the reserved section of the stands, feeling a little jittery from nerves, but still excited to meet with the recruiters. After they had seen him catch the snitch, he had a good feeling that at least one team would want him as their seeker.

To Arthur's great distress, the recruiters congratulated him on his impressive flying and on winning the race to catch the snitch, but they admitted that their teams were primarily looking for chasers or beaters. They already had their star seekers. Other players came and went, but a seeker could stay on a team for a decade or so. The recruiters said that they would continue watching his career with great interest, but they preferred to hire a seeker with several years of professional, post-Hogwarts experience.

Arthur frowned and walked to the next group of recruiters, who repeated nearly the same lines. The English teams were full, as were the European ones. He skipped the Irish teams, and found himself at the end of the line—with the Americans.

The recruiter from the Fitchburg Finches gave Arthur a look of surprise. Hogwarts students rarely wanted to cross the pond, especially since the American Quidditch teams ranked low internationally. "If you're really interested, we could use a seeker of your caliber," she said, after introducing herself as Emily. "Our seeker has been talking about moving over into the Quodpot leagues, since they make better money," she added, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Let me send him a message, see if he's made a final decision, and I'll give you an answer when I hear back."

"That sounds lovely," Arthur said, watching as she sent a text with her mobile. He suddenly felt a stab of guilt that he was taking a spot away from Alfred. "I'm surprised you're not recruiting the American seeker," he admitted.

Emily shrugged. "He came and talked to us right away. I hate to break anyone's dreams, but he's already too big for the spot. Don't get me wrong, he's a great flyer, but you need a certain build to do well as a seeker. Fast and light, that's the ticket."

Arthur nodded. He usually didn't think of his short, slim frame as an advantage, but in the game of Quidditch it truly was. The knowledge that Alfred was never going to receive the spot assuaged his guilt slightly. He gave the recruiter his mobile number so she could get in touch once she heard back from her current seeker. She seemed surprised and pleased that he was already acquainted with muggle technology.

"You know, I think you'll do well in America," Emily said with a broad smile.

* * *

After meeting with the Quidditch recruiters, Arthur walked to the Headmaster's office with a feeling of trepidation. He suspected that the meeting with Alfred and the Headmaster was going to be about the confundus charm that had been cast on Alfred during the game. The team lost points because it counted as a foul, but he imagined that the Headmaster would want to do more investigation.

His suspicions were correct.

"One student hexing another student is a serious matter," the Headmaster said, giving them a both stern look. "As prefects, I expect you to tell me what you know. Because somehow, I feel there's something more than just Quidditch rivalry going on here."

Arthur bit his lip. He felt honor-bound to share his suspicious, but he didn't want his cousin to be harshly punished for his childish antics. Still, he trusted the Headmaster to be fair. "It was probably Peter," Arthur admitted finally, after a moment of silence.

"Your cousin? That would be rather strange," the Headmaster asked, stroking his beard. "To hex your broom one game and then turn around and hex your opponent," he added, pointing to Alfred when he said the word opponent.

Arthur shrugged. "Perhaps he felt guilty and wanted to even the score?"

The Headmaster chuckled. "Ah, the classic 'two wrongs make a right' logic. Still, something leads me to believe that your cousin had a different goal in mind." He turned to face Alfred, watching the American closely. "Do you have any ideas, Alfred?"

The American shook his head. Then he bit his lip, obviously hiding something. If Arthur didn't already know that Alfred was hiding their secret relationship, he would have suspected the American of something awful, based on his guilty expression.

"Really, not a single clue?" the Headmaster asked, leaning forward. "You know, Alfred, one student hexing another student is a serious matter."

Arthur frowned, suddenly suspecting that they _weren't_ talking about the confundus charm after all. He realized that Peter—after telling Arthur about the love potion ingredients in Alfred's room—must have taken his suspicions about Alfred to the Headmaster. With the ingredients in his room as proof, the evidence was stacked against Alfred. And Arthur wasn't in a good place to defend the other boy, since claiming that he actually _did_ love Alfred would just appear to be _proof_ that he was under a love spell. In fact, the only way to help the other boy would be to act like he hated him, because that would show that Alfred hadn't cast a spell on him. Alfred would be vindicated either way—eventually. But Arthur had the power to nip any suspicions in the bud with a few tart words.

Arthur quickly frowned. "Excuse me, Headmaster, but if you're going to do something about the Slytherins, you should stop them from using dirty tricks to win Quidditch games," he said, glaring at Alfred. The American's eyes filled with confusion and then hurt, but Arthur carefully maintained his scowl.

The Headmaster glanced at him sharply. "Arthur, I'm surprised at you. I thought it was very kind of you to tell Alfred that he had been confounded."

The Gryffindor seeker shrugged. "Slytherins win by cheating, but Gryffindors win with fair play," he said. "I didn't want us to win because of Peter's hex. I guess the Slytherins don't have a problem with that," he added tartly.

Alfred sucked in a breath, looking pained and bewildered. Arthur felt the boy's sad expression hit him like a punch in the gut. His composure started to crack and he was grateful when Peter burst out from behind a curtain—giving them all a distraction. The younger Kirkland pointed a finger at Alfred. "I confounded him because he used a love potion to make Arthur go all wobbly!" he shouted. "I know he did. He had the ingredients in his room and everything!"

The American shook his head and stared at the floor, refusing to meet Arthur's gaze. "It was for a hate potion," he confessed, his boisterous voice reduced to a monotone. "And it was for me." He looked up at the Headmaster and asked, "If you took the ingredients out of my room, could I have them back? I think I need to make some more."

The Headmaster shook his head, drawing all of the wrong conclusions from their little scene of anger and hurt, just as Arthur wanted. He walked forward and patted Alfred on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, but they are restricted ingredients," he said with genuine sympathy. He then turned to face Peter. "I understand why you thought what you were doing was right, however, confounding another student is wrong, Peter. I have no choice but to ban you from playing on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts for the rest of your time here."

Peter stared at the Headmaster in shock. He cajoled and begged and whined, but no matter what he said, he couldn't convince the older man to change his mind.

Arthur felt some pleasure that his annoying cousin was finally getting his comeuppance, but even that pleasure faded as soon as he noticed that Alfred had slipped away. He waited until the Headmaster finally sent Peter to detention, and then hurried to find Alfred. He needed to explain himself; he just hoped that Alfred would understand.

* * *

Alfred curled up under his sheets and wished that the knocking at his window would go away. He could hear Arthur, outside on his broomstick, calling for him to open the window and let him in. He resolutely ignored the other boy. "Go away! There's nothing you can say to convince me to open the window!" Alfred finally shouted.

"You pinky swore that we would talk after the final match," Arthur shouted back.

Okay, there was _one_ thing Arthur could say to convince him to open the window.

The American sighed, but climbed out of bed and finally opened the window. Arthur was right; he believed in the sanctity of the pinky promise.

Arthur set his broomstick against the wall and they stood facing each other. A flood of words poured out from Arthur's mouth, as he explained _why_ he had acted like he disliked Alfred in front of Peter and the Headmaster. Alfred wanted to stay angry, but he felt the vestiges of his anger dissipate as he realized that Arthur had been trying to make things better. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if any of Arthur's comments were true. "Are you annoyed that we won? With _how_ we won?" Alfred asked.

Arthur sighed and sat down on the bed. "It'd be a lie to say that I wasn't... but it was my own fault for not thinking to check. I _knew_ Peter had cast the spell. I should have realized that it would change the score."

Alfred sat down next to him. He laughed dryly. "Not that winning actually mattered. No one offered me a seeker position." He sighed and slumped backwards, lowering his upper body to the bed as his feet rested against the floor. "One American recruiter said I should try out to be their spare beater. She thought I had the build for it."

"For what it's worth, I agree. You'd be a great beater."

"I don't know. Maybe I should stay at Hogwarts and finish my seventh year here. I bet Maddie would like that," Alfred said, turning his head to face Arthur. "And you're going to be with some English team, so we could still see each other," his tone hopeful.

Arthur glanced down at the floor, inwardly pleased that Alfred had thought about staying in England for his sake. "I couldn't get a guaranteed seeker spot either," he admitted, "though one team said maybe." His gaze drifting to Alfred as he delivered the most important part. "They're an American team."

Alfred blinked at him. "You're willing to come to America?" he asked, eyes widening in surprise and delight. "I didn't think... wow, that's great!"

"Perhaps, if they have a spot for me," Arthur said, the rest of his sentence interrupted as Alfred crushed him in a bear hug. Arthur slowly wrapped his arms around the other boy, returning the hug and basking in the feeling of happiness and contentment.

For the first time in a long time, he felt that everything was going to turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Quidditch Final and its aftermath isn't going to fit into one chapter, so here's part one. If you realized that the score from the third match was going to matter, congratulations! You're doing better than the Gryffindor team. And that's how you win with cunning :)


	14. Snake and Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred starts to like divination.

Arthur was immensely grateful that they were both still wearing their robes when Alfred's parents opened the door and walked into the room. Arthur quickly jumped off of the bed, wiping a bit of saliva from his chin and hoping his flush would quickly fade.

"Alfred, sweetie, that was a wonderful Quidditch game!" Mrs. Jones said happily, either completely oblivious to what she was interrupting or willing to _pretend_ that she was oblivious. She turned and smiled at Arthur. "You too, Arthur. You played beautifully out there."

"Uh, thank you, ma'am."

"I told you to call me Amelia," she replied with a smile. She took a few steps into the room and her expression fell. "This room is a mess!" she said, gesturing to the piles of clothing on the floor and the towering heap of books on the desk.

"I was busy practicing for Quidditch," Alfred protested. "Besides, you can see, like, half the floor," he added, spreading his arms to show how clean the room was based on his own very low standards. Arthur hadn't been paying much attention to the messiness of the room, but he had to admit that Alfred's mother had a point. The room looked like it was occupied by a herd of elephants instead of just one boy. Alfred herded his parents to the door. "Hey, how about we go to Hogsmeade? I'm hungry and they have a nice sweet shop!" he said, trying to distract them from the messiness.

"We already feed you too many sweets," his mother replied. "But I thought the tea shop near the inn looked nice. What do you think, George?"

Alfred stepped closer to Arthur as his parents discussed their plans for the rest of the day. "Sorry, between the recruiters and the Headmaster I kind of forgot my parents were coming to meet me here after the game," he whispered apologetically.

"I understand," Arthur replied with a smile and a shrug.

Even though Arthur intended to leave and give Alfred some time with his parents during their visit, he found himself joining them for tea at Amelia's insistence. She also invited Madeleine, explaining that she wanted to meet Alfred's other "best friend." Arthur felt an unexpected flood of happiness when Alfred corrected his mother—"Arthur's my _boyfriend_ , Mom." Lovely people that they were, Alfred's parents didn't even bat an eye.

They found Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop mostly empty when they arrived—not surprising given that students had to return to their homework after the end of the Quidditch game. They chose a round table near the window and Alfred grabbed the chair between Madeleine and Arthur. He pouted when he discovered that coffee wasn't even on the menu, but perked up when Arthur grabbed his hand under the table.

As they waited for their tea to arrive, Alfred and his mother did most of the talking, with occasional questions directed to Madeleine and Arthur. Arthur found himself relaxing once he finally had a cup of tea in front of him. He hid a smile as he watched Alfred and the American's parents all add significant amounts of sugar to their tea.

"We like our sweet tea," Alfred explained with a grin.

"I can see that," Arthur dryly replied.

Madeleine shook her head and passed the milk to Arthur. He appreciated that at least _one_ person at the table knew how to drink a proper cup of tea.

* * *

Alfred zoned out when his parents started asking Arthur and Madeleine about their classes. If he was interested in Ancient Runes, he would have taken the class himself. He gazed out the window and watched the people walking around Hogsmeade. There were a few children who were too young to have started at Hogwarts and he recognized some of the recruiters strolling to the inn. Near the end of the street, he spotted a middle-aged couple that looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn't until he saw the man's eyebrows that he realized that they were Arthur's aunt and uncle. He nudged Arthur and pointed them out.

Arthur frowned. "Why are they here?" he muttered under his breath.

The rest of the table peered out the window. "Is that your aunt and uncle?" Mrs. Jones asked as she set down her tea cup. Alfred could see a hard glint in her eyes. He had told her a bit about Arthur's background and she hadn't been pleased by what she heard. He could see that she was debating having a 'talk' with Arthur's relatives.

"Do you think they're here because of Peter?" Madeleine asked. She bit her lip when everyone stared at her, but explained to Alfred's parents, "Their son Peter hexed a broom in an earlier game. Actually, that's the reason the Slytherins won. I bet he's not very popular in Gryffindor right now."

"It's more than that," Arthur added. "He also hexed Alfred in the most recent game as... a sort of apology for the earlier hex," he simplified instead of going into the details about the love potion accusations. "I'm sorry about my cousin."

"Don't worry, _you_ don't need to be sorry," Alfred's mother said as she pushed back her chair and excused herself from the table. Alfred's father followed close behind. From their position by the window, the three could see Alfred's parents cross the street and flag down the Kirklands. Alfred watched as the Kirklands' expressions shifted from surprise to defensive anger, but he couldn't hear what any of them were saying. Even from their distance, he could feel his parents' anger as a palpable force.

"If your parents are hoping for an apology on your behalf, I think they're out of luck," Arthur said. He was keeping his face carefully blank, but he tightened his grip on Alfred's hand under the table. Alfred gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

By that point, the argument in the street had drawn a small crowd of spectators. It wasn't often an angry American chewed out a well-respected wizarding couple in the middle of the street. Alfred's mother—who apparently shared Alfred's loud voice when she wanted—finally reached a volume they could hear even inside the tea shop. "You smothered one child, turning him into a spoiled brat who hurts others when he doesn't get what he wants, and deprived the other of the affection and love he deserved. How _dare_ you play favorites when _you should have loved them both_!" she shouted, giving them a final glare before spinning around.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred could see Arthur rub his eyes. He felt a surge of pride in his mother. Deciding that he should do his part, Alfred pulled out his wand and muttered "Opprimendi Desperatio" under his breath. The Kirklands began crying. It was magically-induced sorrow, but it was still gratifying to see.

His parents walked back into the shop and took their seats. "Oh good, my tea didn't get cold," was all his mother said, before directing the conversation back to Runespoors and Fwoopers.

Arthur didn't say much after that, but when he thanked Alfred's parents, Alfred had the sense that tea wasn't the only thing he was thanking them for. Alfred finished his own tea and smiled when he saw two familiar images in the dregs, a lion and a snake. Placing his cup side-by-side with Arthur's, he could see that they were mirror images. Even though he wasn't very good at divinations, he could guess what that particular fortune meant.

* * *

After tea, Arthur found a message waiting for him on his mobile. It was the American recruiter with the response she had promised:

_Current seeker leaving, do you still want the spot?_

Arthur texted back an immediate acceptance. He wasn't surprised when his phone buzzed a few moments later.

_Great! BTW, any prob with a slytherin on the team?_

Arthur frowned at his phone, unsure what 'BTW' meant and trying to guess which Slytherin they would want. Then the answer hit him. Alfred said an American team offered him a try-out as a beater and he referred to the recruiter as a 'she.' Arthur thought back to the American teams and realized that only one of the American teams had sent a female recruiter—the Fitchburg Finches—and it was the same team that had just offered him a spot. He texted a quick response, reassuring the recruiter that he would have _no problems whatsoever_ with a Slytherin on the team. He wondered if Alfred was trying out on the Quidditch field at that very moment and hurried down to check.

Still a little breathless from running down to the Quidditch field, Arthur discovered that he had guessed right. He found an inconspicuous spot where he could watch Alfred. The American recruiter had Alfred using the practice gear to test how good he was at hitting a target with a bludger. Alfred had good hand-eye coordination. Even better, he hit with tremendous force, knocking over many of the practice targets. Combined with his skillful flying, Arthur could see that Alfred would be an excellent beater. He just hoped that the recruiter could see it too.

After several more exercises, she clapped him on the shoulder. He nodded and gave her a smile, although it looked like the smile of someone who was settling for second best. Arthur would see what he could do about brightening that smile. He ducked into the locker room and waited. As soon as Alfred entered the room, he grabbed the American by his shirt and kissed him fiercely, enjoying the faint musk of Alfred's sweat and running his fingers through the other boy's damp, windblown hair.

Alfred responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist. They knocked against a bench and laughed, even as Alfred gave Arthur a somewhat confused smile. "What's this about?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You're looking at the Finches' newest seeker," Arthur replied.

Alfred gaped, his eyes widening as he made the connection. Suddenly Alfred's face split into a grin—the broadest, happiest grin Arthur had ever seen on the young man's face. The American lifted Arthur in a hug and exuberantly spun him in a circle, before returning him to the ground. "You and me on the same team, huh?" he said with a soft laugh. "That'll be something new."

Arthur grinned. "I know... I'm looking forward to it."

"So now that we're playing for the same team, are you ready to go public?" Alfred whispered in his ear.

"You know, I think I am," Arthur replied. He saw Alfred's thrilled expression and quickly tamped down his expectations. "Not that I want to post the banns or anything, but there's certainly no need to keep it hidden."

"Why would we post banners?" Alfred asked in confusion. Then he gasped excitedly. "Unless we created our own house! It could be the Quidditch House and it would be awesome. We'd have an eagle as a mascot and our house colors could be red and blue. And it wouldn't have stairs, you'd go everywhere by broomstick!"

Arthur chuckled dryly. "I can see you've given this a lot of thought." He walked with Alfred to the Prefect's bathroom as the American continued to babble excitedly about his plans for a new house. Arthur could feel the stares on the back of his neck, and he could hear the hushed whispers. So he grabbed the American's hand and enjoyed the sudden silence that filled the hallway.

Eventually he'd have to calm his housemates. And his teammates. And his cousin. But that would happen later— _after_ a wonderful bubble bath with his boyfriend.

Arthur was sure he could manage.

* * *

_Dear Aunt and Uncle,_

_I don't normally read the Daily Prophet but one of my friends showed me the article about your recent hearing in the Wizengamot. I simply cannot imagine how they learned that you were keeping an endangered Golden Snidget as a pet. I do hope that they've found a good home for Elfrida somewhere._

_You may wonder what other unpleasant surprises await you, but you can stop worrying. I've decided that you simply aren't worth my time._

_Oddly enough, I've finally forgiven Peter for being a brat and I've done what I can to make sure that he doesn't go down in Gryffindor House history as the boy who lost us the Quidditch Trophy. For your part, I hope that you take his punishment as a wake up call and finally teach my cousin that he'll have to work to get what he wants._

_Do try not to mess it up._

_Goodbye,_ _  
_Arthur_ _

* * *

The last day of NEWTs testing came as an immense relief. Arthur was glad that his final test was on the Care of Magical Creatures because he found himself with little time left for revision after his monstrous History of Magic exam. Arthur _liked_ history and even he thought that magic had far too much of it.

After his test, Arthur walked over to the magical creatures' stables to say goodbye to some of his earliest friends at Hogwarts. Flying Mint Bunny slowly circled his head as he went from stall to stall, conversing softly with the Hippogriffs, Nifflers, and Kneazles. Arthur smiled fondly as the unicorn foal nuzzled his hand.

"I'll miss you too," he said.

"Hey, Artie! There you are," Alfred called from the doorway. "Who are you talking to?" he asked as he sauntered closer. Before Arthur had a chance to respond he added more questions: "How did the test go? Are you ready for the party tonight?"

"Silver, well enough, and not quite," Arthur replied, by now well accustomed to Alfred's rapid-fire questions. Alfred leaned against the stall door and didn't even notice as the unicorn lightly huffed his hair. "I'll never understand why the unicorn loves you as much as she does," Arthur said. "You can't even see her."

"What can I say? Unicorns _love_ Virginians."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You've been waiting all school year to say that, haven't you?" he groused, shaking his head, even though his lips still quirked upward. "The Gryffindors wonder what I see in you." His house was still reeling after learning that the two rival seekers had started dating. He hoped that it wouldn't get in the way of having fun at the end-of-the-year party.

Alfred grinned. "Ah, don't worry, once you start macking on me after a few drinks, I think they'll figure it out."

"I'm not going to get _that_ drunk," Arthur protested, though the retort sounded feeble even to his ears. After a grueling week of tests, he _deserved_ some alcohol and even he had to admit that the night would probably end in a drunken blur. At least if his housemates reacted poorly to seeing him draped on the arm of a Slytherin, he'd be too far gone to care.

The Seventh Years had a tradition of throwing a party after finishing their NEWTs. The house that won the House Cup hosted the party in its common room (with a few well-placed silencing charms ensuring that the professors wouldn't interrupt). Most professors had been students themselves once, so they turned a blind eye to a night of carousing and general merriment. The sofas and chairs in the Hufflepuff Common room had been pushed to the side to make room for the 40-some students who were dancing, drinking, and chattering away. Tables on the side held a collection of drinks. A small group of graduating students served as the band, playing surprisingly decent wizard rock.

Arthur felt the stares as soon as he arrived with Alfred. Seventh years were allowed to bring a date, so everyone would be able to guess why sixth-year Alfred was attending with him. They managed to dance for a while before one of Arthur's teammates accosted them. "Fucking hell, Arthur. Are you going to date all of the Slytherin boys?" he demanded, voice slightly slurred from alcohol.

"Just the blond ones," Arthur replied calmly.

"They stole our Quidditch trophy," the Gryffindor growled.

"Strange, I seem to remember Peter having something to do with that."

Madeleine hurried over to play peacemaker. "No fighting. This is Hufflepuff, remember?"

The Gryffindor squinted at her. "You look familiar," he said.

She smiled. "Well, I hexed you once in the magical creatures stables _and_ I punched you in the face after a Quidditch game. Perhaps third time's the charm?"

He shook his head. "Uh, never mind," he said, before backing away slowly and then running out the door. For some reason, Arthur and Alfred didn't have any other problems for the rest of the night.

Alfred laughed. "Honey badgers are awesome." He sighed when Arthur and Madeleine gave him confused looks. "Okay, after we do our Star Wars marathon there are about a thousand hours of internet videos I need to show you," he explained.

"Did someone say 'awesome'? Here I am!" Gilbert shouted. He held a beer in each hand, taking turns as he drank them both. Antonio had chosen sangria while Francis had a glass of wine. Alfred spent some time wondering how Francis had managed to snag wine at a party filled with 17 and 18 year-olds, then decided that if _anyone_ had a spell to turn water into wine, it was Francis.

Francis proposed a drinking game—Veritas or Imperius—and a small group of them gathered together in a corner of the room, sitting in a circle on the floor. Even though Arthur protested, Alfred dragged him into the game. Still grumbling, Arthur sat between Alfred and Kiku. At the other end of the circle Francis lounged between Madeleine and the other two members of the Slytherin trio.

"I'll go first!" Gilbert shouted. He turned around so his back was facing the circle. "V or I, I or V, charm or curse, you tell me!" he chanted. He spent a moment in thought and then said "Imperius!"

The rest of the circle snickered as he turned around. The game worked by having everyone in the circle pick either Veritas (by making a V with two fingers) or Imperius (an I with one finger). Those who picked the same one as the caller had to do an order or share a truth of the caller's choice. To keep things reasonable, the caller had to share the same secret and perform the same dare. Because they had all guessed that Gilbert would choose Imperius, everyone had picked Veritas instead.

"Scheiße!" Gilbert muttered under his breath. "Do I still do it if no one else does?"

"Si," Antonio replied, smiling mischievously.

"Fine. I order myself to pat myself on the back because I'm awesome!" He reached back and patted himself. "Clearly you guys aren't awesome like I am."

Francis was the next to turn around. He said the little chant and picked Imperius. When he turned around, he grinned. Half of the circle had two fingers raised, but the remaining three people had only chosen one finger—Alfred, Arthur, and Madeleine. Francis rubbed his hands together. "What to do, what to do?" he asked himself gleefully.

"I thought if you were guessing Imperius, that Francis wouldn't choose it," Arthur whispered to Alfred, a displeased scowl on his face.

"Nah, I just figured that he'd pick something fun," Alfred replied.

"Fun, indeed!" Francis promised. He summoned a bottle of Grand Marnier Cordon Rouge and enough shot glasses for the entire group. He poured four shots and sent them flying across the wooden floor to their destination. "I order you to drink a shot for every time you've caught a snitch in a Gryffindor/Slytherin game this year."

Arthur glared at the three shots lined up in front of him. "The point of doing your own Imperius is to actually do your own Imperius, you French tosser." Despite his complaints, he lifted up a shot and drank it.

Alfred laughed and downed his own shot. The alcohol tasted nice, like oranges and sugar. "Can I get another, Francis? I think that catching Arthur in one of the games should count for something."

"But of course," Francis replied, quickly pouring Alfred another shot. When the rest of the group wanted to try, he poured them all shots as well. Kiku gave the glass a suspicious glance before drinking it. By the time Francis finished pouring, Arthur had downed his three shots. He wiped a bit of alcohol from his chin and gave Alfred a messy kiss. Alfred grinned, enjoying how Arthur became more affectionate while tipsy.

"My turn!" Madeleine said eagerly, turning her back on the group. She picked Veritas, catching Kiku, Gilbert, and Francis. She cast the Veritas charm on the group to make sure they told the truth. "Tell me a secret that no one else in the circle knows."

Kiku stared off into space as he contemplated the wide variety of secrets he could share. He rubbed his chin and frowned. The Slytherin trio refilled their drinks while they waited and eventually Gilbert suggested that he could go next to give Kiku time to think. He grinned and said, "The Horntails are going to be so much more awesome with me on their Quidditch team. Kesesese."

"Uh, that's not really what I had in mind, eh."

Gilbert frowned. "You're right! That's not a secret at all. Okay, how's this: the beater on the team totally digs me."

"You said that yesterday," Antonio replied. "And I thought she threatened to hit you with a bludger?" he asked, tilting his head to the side quizzically.

"Yeah, but it was a really flirty sort of threatening."

"Alright, I think Gilbert's secret is that he's in love with his team's beater and he doesn't know how to express his feelings," Madeleine interjected.

"Hey! That's not it!"

Ignoring Gilbert's protests, Francis went next. "The Bonnefoys are the less evil, more French branch of the Malfoy family," he said. "But we try not to talk about them much."

"I always thought that French and evil were synonyms," Arthur snarked. Alfred had to hide a smile—he also liked how Arthur picked fights while tipsy.

"That's because you don't know the French." He lifted up his glass of wine and gave a toast, "As I always say, a bonne fois means a good time."

Madeleine laughed. Still blushing, she shared her secret: "The Headmaster loves pancakes. So I bribed him with chocolate pancakes and that's how we won the House Cup," she said proudly. "Two hundred points for delicious pancakes!"

"To pancakes!" Gilbert said, clinking his beer bottles together for his own toast. "So, Kiku, buddy, what's your secret?"

The Ravenclaw boy lifted up a bottle of sake and offered it to the circle.

"You brought sake!" Alfred said excitedly, offering his glass. "That's a great secret."

* * *

Even Alfred felt a bit tipsy when they decided to call it a night. The Slytherin trio stumbled back to their dorm, leaning on each other and singing out of tune. It was probably a naughty song, but it was a little hard to tell because they were singing in three different languages, none of which were English. Alfred waved goodbye to Kiku and then decided that he had _definitely_ had too much to drink when he thought he saw a flash of a red fluffy tail peek out from under Kiku's robes.

Arthur wasn't much help in the matter, but Alfred still managed to drape the other boy across his back, then lifted his legs so he could carry him piggyback style.

"Maybe you should stick to drinking tea," Alfred teased as he made his way, slowly, down the corridor. He focused on walking in a straight line and managed to keep the swaying to a minimum. Thoughts of tea slowly filtered through his brain and he remembered something he had meant to tell Arthur earlier in the night, before the excessive drinking. "I figured out the symbols in your cup," he said proudly. "Mine too, actually. I'm pretty sure they're a snake and a lion."

Arthur yawned and his breath warmed Alfred's neck. "Lion's a good symbol," Arthur murmured sleepily. "Means influen- influench... helpful friends."

"And the snake's a baaad symbol, I bet," Alfred said as he crossed the dark common room and climbed the steps to his room. He finally pushed the dorm open with one foot. When Arthur didn't reply, he wondered if his boyfriend had nodded off. "Still with me, Artie?" he asked, feeling the boy's arms loosen around his neck.

"Maybe... snake's a hard symbol to read. It's an enemy or wisdom," Arthur replied, acting a bit more awake as he managed to stumble off Alfred's back. He plopped onto the only bed that wasn't covered in suitcases and dirty clothes. Alfred joined him a second later after tossing his outer robe onto the floor. "There's a wonderful invention called hangers, you know," Arthur said, sounding remarkably sober.

"Hey, did you act drunk just so I would carry you back to my dorm?" Alfred accused, even as he curled up against Arthur. The beds were too small for two people, but they made it work.

Arthur smirked without a hint of shame. "Maybe," he admitted. "I _was_ a bit drunk, but that nap against your shoulder put me right."

"Darling, you're such a sneak, such a lazy sneak," Alfred said, letting his Southern accent thicken to the point where _sneak_ sounded like _snake_. Then he grinned. "But I'd be lion if I said I didn't love it." Arthur gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. Alfred laughed. "Hey, hate the pun, not the punner!" he protested.

"Don't worry, love," Arthur said. "I've always taken a... love the punner approach." He caressed Alfred's face with his hand and then planted a chaste kiss on the other boy's lips. "I do love you," he murmured, his voice as gentle as his kiss.

"I-" Alfred bit back the Star Wars reference that was at the tip of his tongue. Even he could tell there was a time and place for pop culture references and this was neither the time nor the place. "Me too," he hurriedly replied.

Arthur arched an eyebrow. " _You_ love you? Well, that's certainly true."

Alfred huffed. "No, I love you."

"Much better."

"Even when you get all ridiculous about grammar." Alfred gave Arthur a teasing grin. "Since you're _not_ drunk, tell me what the symbols mean together." He playfully rubbed his feet against Arthur's, using his toes to caress the bottom of Arthur's foot.

Arthur pressed his foot against the bed. "Stop tickling if you want an answer," he replied, though he was grinning, so Alfred knew he couldn't be _too_ annoyed. "The longer a symbol lasts, the more important it is," he said, closing his eyes, trying to envision the symbols in his mind. "A lot depends on the positioning, but I'm guessing that the lion was laying down with the serpent... which is either a portent of the apocalypse or a symbol of utopia. So I think it means a happy life together."

Alfred grinned. "You know, I think I could start to like divination."

"Mmm, it's a lovely art," Arthur agreed. He yawned, finding that the alcohol still coursing through his veins combined with the soft bed and late hour made it difficult to stay awake. "Of course, there's only one way to find out if I'm right," he added sleepily.

Patience had never been one of Alfred's strong points. He normally didn't like horoscopes or divinations because it took _forever_ to figure out what they meant, but as he drifted off to sleep, he decided that this was one divination for which he could make an exception.

Needless to say, Arthur's prediction was entirely correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the banns refers to a tradition of announcing a wedding.
> 
> To understand Francis's bilingual pun, you should know that "Bonnefoy" is pronounced bonne fwa. Which can be spelled as bonne fois, which literally translates to "good time" (though that's not the actual translation). Basically, he's saying that if you want a good time, call Francis Bonnefoy. And that's why Maddie is the only one who gets the joke. Hurray for French-speaking Canadians!
> 
> I feel like the HP books are a little too clean given the age ranges at the end, so I've invented a magical game of truth or dare. Don't worry, they aren't actually casting the Imperius curse. That would be unforgivable ;)  
> Finally, the Star Wars reference that Alfred doesn't make is the classic "I love you" - "I know" lines.


	15. Graduation Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur writes a speech.

Hogwarts provided a week-long break at the end of testing, giving students a chance to pack their trunks, make summer plans, and say goodbye to all of their friends. Alfred used his free time to teach Quodpot, an American variant of Quidditch, to any student who wanted to learn. He wanted to teach Arthur too, but his Gryffindor boyfriend proved surprisingly difficult to find.

"There you are!" Alfred called when he finally spotted Arthur sitting at one of the tables half-hidden at the back of the empty library. He should have known that Arthur would still be studying in the library even after the end of classes. "Come on, babe, NEWTs are _over_ ," he said as he sprawled his arms across the table, nearly knocking over the ink stand in the process.

Arthur moved the ink to a safer spot on the table and continued staring at the parchment sheets spread across the table in front of him. "I'm working on my speech," he explained without looking up.

"Ooh, are you going to talk about me?" Alfred asked. Interest piqued, he leaned over further, trying to read the scroll upside-down. "You totally should. Like... say that you really appreciate the school welcoming more international students after the Second Wizarding War because you got an awesome American boyfriend."

Arthur pulled the parchment away, hiding the words from Alfred's view. "You'll find out when everyone else does," he calmly replied. "Now, stop distracting me."

"So... I'm a distraction, huh?" Alfred preened.

Arthur ignored the smug look on his boyfriend's face, refusing to take the bait. "Were you looking for me for a reason?" he asked, slightly tilting his head to the side.

"Yeah! We've got a pick-up game of Quodpot going on outside. Come join!"

"Perhaps later," Arthur demurred. He glanced up and could tell that Alfred was ready to start pleading, no doubt using his expressive eyes to good effect. Fortunately, he knew what to offer Alfred in exchange for a few more hours of silence. Arthur arched an eyebrow and asked casually, "Alfred, do you want a complimentary reference in my speech or should I do a 3-hour long rant about annoying Americans?" His time with Madeleine had been oddly instructive.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop distracting you," Alfred said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Just remember my suggestion!" he added, giving Arthur a kiss before he left. He wasn't admitting defeat, he was just postponing the battle. He would just make sure that Arthur tried Quodpot once they arrived in the States.

When Alfred left and the library was quite once more, Alfred turned back to his parchment with a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

Arthur arrived in time to see the final play of the Quodpot game. The opposing teams had been reduced to Francis and Kiku. Because Quodpot was basically Quidditch mixed with hot potato, the two of them kept trying to score while avoiding being the last one holding the quaffle when it exploded. Kiku tossed the quaffle directly to Francis, and it promptly exploded, ending the game in Kiku's favor.

Antonio shook his head from his position on the sidelines. "I think he's cheating."

"That's not fair!" Gilbert protested. " _We're_ supposed to be the cheaters."

"I doubt it's cheating," Alfred replied as he walked closer. "Kiku's just... sly that way."

Francis brushed off some dust and joined them on the sidelines. "Alfred! Where is _ton lapin_?" he asked.

"Still writing his speech."

"Did you tell him about my speech ideas?" Gilbert asked. "He should talk about how alcohol can solve all problems," he added, referring to the night that Arthur got drunk and ended up spending the night in Alfred's room.

"Ooh, even better, he should _give_ the speech while drunk," Antonio said. He and Gilbert high-fived, admiring the excellence of their plan. Both conveniently ignored that a drunken speech from Arthur would likely entail an hour-long rant about grammar.

Francis swung his arm around Alfred's shoulders and grinned. "Ah, _d'Artagnan_ , I feel like we should offer you some parting words of advice." He rubbed his beard and turned to the other two members of the trio and asked, "Any advice?"

"Don't mix reds and whites in the laundry," Antonio suggested. 

Gilbert nodded. "It'll all end up pink."

"No worries, these colors don't run," Alfred replied with a grin. The trio slapped him on the back and left to prepare their 'totally awesome' end-of-school prank. Alfred hoped that it would involve more fireworks.

 

* * *

 

Graduation from Hogwarts was a ceremonial affair. The four house banners hung at the front of the Great Hall, but the four long tables used at mealtime had been replaced by rows and rows of seats, now filled with proud parents, bored siblings, and the occasional boyfriend or girlfriend. Although Hogwarts students spent seven years in their sorted house, someone had decided long ago that on their first and last days it was fitting for the students to wear plain robes and sit in alphabetical order instead of by house.

The teachers sat in a row along the raised platform, chatting amongst themselves. Some beamed with pride at their favorite students—a few others looked particularly relieved that the trio of troublemakers would soon be leaving Hogwarts forever.

Alfred and Madeleine hurried in just before the ceremony was ready to start and grabbed seats in the back row. For once, Alfred wasn't the one responsible for the tardiness. They had arrived early, but the groundkeeper wouldn't let Madeleine in with her pet bear. Alfred didn't sit down immediately, instead he spotted a glimpse of Arthur's untidy hair and tried to catch his attention before Madeleine pulled him down into his seat.

"Don't make a scene," she whispered.

The American grinned. "I'm not the one who wanted to bring a _bear_."

She sighed. "I don't understand why the professors wouldn't let Kumarie come. She's much better behaved then you. Prettier too."

Ignoring Madeleine's dig, Alfred looked through the crowd and was glad that he didn't see Arthur's aunt or uncle in attendance. Arthur said that he was much happier after cutting ties with his family. And once he moved to America, a distance of 3000 miles would ensure that they couldn't bother him any more. Somehow Alfred doubted that the Kirklands would be the sort to invest in cellphone or internet technology, leaving them with few ways to send messages across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Madeleine nudged Alfred in the side and pointed out an elegantly dressed couple with silky blond hair, identifying them as the Bonnefoys. Alfred hoped that Francis's parents wouldn't be _too_ upset with the Slytherin trio when they pulled a prank on their final day at Hogwarts. Given their past history of pranks, it really was to be expected.

Alfred started to fidget almost as soon as the deputy headmaster began the graduation ceremony with a short introduction. Next the headmaster rambled on for a few minutes, relating a story of his first year at Hogwarts. Alfred grew increasingly bored—he'd never been good at sitting quietly for formal events—but immediately sat up straight when Arthur walked to the front of the room. The Gryffindor Prefect had been selected by his fellow students to have the honor of delivering the farewell address.

Arthur stood at the center platform, where his voice would be magically amplified to fill the entire room, looking calm and unruffled. Given some of the nasty comments other students had made about his choice in boyfriend, Alfred had to admire Arthur's unflappable spirit. It was the same focus that made him an amazing Quidditch seeker.

Arthur gave the room a small, beautiful smile—a look that brightened his face and made his male and female admirers weak in the knees. The room hushed. Arthur scanned the crowd and Alfred wondered if his boyfriend was trying to find him. He resisted the urge to wave. Arthur cleared his throat and began his speech by addressing the row of graduating seventh years.

"Like most of you, I remember standing here seven years ago, wondering what the future would hold. And now, despite a number of Divination classes, I must admit that I'm still unsure about the particulars. But I feel confident in predicting that we will rise to meet the challenges ahead, no matter what they may be, thanks to the friends we've made and the skills we've learned at Hogwarts. I know that I, for one, will always remember to wear earmuffs when dealing with mandrakes."

The students in the audience chuckled, appreciating Arthur's self-deprecating humor. Although he normally did very well in herbology, Arthur had a rather poor reaction to replanting young mandrakes. Francis had gleefully shared the story with Alfred, who wished he could have been around to catch Arthur when he fainted.

"Of course, it's not just the skills we've learned here that are important," Arthur said crisply. "Even more important is what we've learned about _ourselves_. I know I will always have a soft spot for my own house," he smiled fondly at his Gryffindor friends, "but I think we should remember that the _purpose_ of the house system is to identify and refine our greatest strengths. Bravery, knowledge, loyalty, and ambition... these are all important traits that work best in combination."

For each adjective, Arthur sought the gaze of a member of that house. When he reached _ambition_ , he looked directly at Alfred. The American grinned, recognizing it as Arthur's subtle reference to them joining the same Quidditch team. He wondered if the other students realized that Arthur was giving a shout-out to his boyfriend.

Arthur turned back to the seventh years and continued his speech. "When I was first sorted, I foolishly believed that I _was_ brave simply because a magical talking hat had seen the potential for bravery within me. I imagined that bravery was always a grand, heroic endeavor like fighting a dark wizard with a sword. I see now that it can be smaller and quieter, actions that we do every day: like refusing to let other people define us, never giving up on our dreams... or even falling in love."

"None of us can be reduced to just one trait, no matter how important. Because it is our _choices_ that show what we truly are, far more than our skills and abilities. And even our ability to use magic, as wonderful as it is, is just a skill, not something that makes us better or worse than anyone else."

"I'd like to take a moment to thank all of the nonmagical parents who have made the trip to join us today. I know this must seem a rather strange place—it certainly seemed that way to me when I first arrived—and it must have been frightening to let your children go to school in a world you never imagined existed. Thank you for your bravery in entrusting this school with your children, and also for trusting your children to learn new skills and grow even though you don't entirely understand this world."

Alfred caught the wistful look on Arthur's face and knew that Arthur wished his own parents could have attended the graduation. He was sure that Arthur's parents would have been proud to see their son grow up into such a kind young man.

"If we had a spell for today, I think it would be _vale dicere_ , which means to say farewell. Farewell to Hogwarts and to our friends, though hopefully we'll have a chance to see both again soon. And in the spirit of the highlands, I offer this final valediction: May you be lionhearted when it matters most, steadfast to those who deserve your allegiance, always determined in seeking your dreams, and wise enough to recognize your deepest dreams, the truly deserving, and what really matters."

Alfred and the rest of the audience clapped loudly. A few purebloods in the audience looked like they had sucked on a lemon, but the enthusiastic clapping from the muggle parents more than made up for their lack of enthusiasm.

After the speech, the seventh years walked up in alphabetical order to receive their diplomas. Thanks to a quirk of their last names—Beilschmidt, Bonnefoy, Carriedo—the Slytherin trio were the first to accept their diploma scrolls from the Headmaster.

Antonio, the last of the trio, accepted his scroll with a grin. "Headmaster has given Antonio a diploma. Antonio is free!" he shouted.

At that signal, the trio summoned their brooms, and soared to the top of the room. As they flew above the crowd, they tossed off their robes and threw firecrackers into the air, including a complicated once that took the shape of a dragon and chased a widely hated Transmutations professor out of the Great Hall. The flames singed his beard, drawing chuckles from the waiting students.

Alfred grinned. It was just like the Slytherin trio to make a grand show out of their exit. He'd heard them planning it earlier, including a flying getaway car to take them back to London. He hoped they successfully eluded capture. Future Hogwarts students would whisper stories about the Bad Friends Trio, the same way they passed down stories about the Marauders.

Once the fireworks stopped exploding, the professors finally restored calm, and the diploma line resumed. Alfred didn't recognize the next few students, but he smiled when Kiku walked up to accept his diploma and a medallion as a reward for receiving the highest overall scores on his NEWTs. Kiku tilted his head graciously, allowing the Headmaster to place the ribbon around his neck. The other Ravenclaw students clapped politely, although a few looked jealous that _they_ weren't the ones receiving the honor of the highest scores.

Arthur crossed the platform and smiled as the Headmaster complimented him on his speech. "I'm always pleased to see bonds grow between the houses," the Headmaster said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, someone has to set a good example for the younger students," Arthur replied, maintaining a straight face. He had to admit to himself that making out with Alfred in the Room of Requirement, the library, the Quidditch changing rooms, the Potions dungeon, the North Tower room, and every other secluded spot they could find was probably not quite the good example the Headmaster was looking for. But it sure was fun.

After the remaining two dozen students accepted their diplomas, the students transformed their caps into butterflies and watched them fly away, cheering loudly all the while. Amidst the celebratory jubilee, Arthur felt a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. He had lived at Hogwarts for almost half of his 18 years. It had been an antidote to his uncaring foster family, a shelter from his aunt and uncle, and the only place that had ever felt like _home_ after his parents died. He would surely miss it.

Alfred and Madeleine pressed through the crowd of parents and students to find Arthur. His short height made it difficult, but Alfred soon spotted a familiar mop of messy blond hair and pushed his way closer. He slipped an arm around his boyfriend's waist and gave him a wide smile.

"Your speech was beautiful," Madeleine said softly.

"I liked the part that had me in it!" Alfred added.

Arthur rolled his eyes at his boyfriend and then turned to thank Madeleine. "I take it your boyfriend won't be joining us on the Hogwarts Express?" he asked, sounding not-at-all upset by the loss of Francis.

"I think they have other plans," she replied with a slight quirk of her lips. Knowing what he knew about the Slytherin trio, Arthur decided that he didn't want to know.

 

* * *

 

Boarding the Hogwarts Express involved a lot of luggage, milling students, and flying owls. Alfred wasn't paying much attention to the other students as he walked through the corridor, peering into windows to find Arthur's compartment; he didn't notice the group of Gryffindors taunting Peter until he practically ran into them.

"You cost us the Quidditch Cup _and_ the House Cup you little brat. You don't deserve to be in Gryffindor."

"I bet he was working for _them_."

"Well, I don't care what Arthur says, I think we should toss him off the train."

They fell silent at Alfred's approach and even the normally dense American noticed the tense atmosphere. Three Gryffindors surrounded the smaller boy. Alfred saw the tears welling in Peter's eyes and decided he didn't like the taunting one bit, mostly because with his large eyebrows and messy hair, Peter looked like a miniature version of Arthur.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Alfred asked, reaching for the wand in his pocket like a cowboy about to draw his gun. He'd already changed to his street clothes, so he had the blue jeans part of the cowboy ensemble going for him.

They glared back, hands hovering over their wands.

"Uh... could you not have a wizard's duel outside our compartment?" a shivering second-year Hufflepuff asked, opening his compartment door just enough to peer outside. Seeing the danger, he pulled Peter inside the compartment before slamming the door shut.

"Well, if you're _chivalrous_ , I suppose we should move this duel to the platform," Alfred replied. He knew that Gryffindors prided themselves on chivalry, so he exploited their weakness to get them on the platform.

Just as he pretended to step off the train, Alfred coughed into his hand, using the cough to cover up his incantation of the Confundus Charm on all three. They were still milling around in confusion when the train pulled away. Alfred grinned to himself. Sometimes it was good to be a sneak.

 

* * *

 

Arthur enjoyed the scenery fly past as the train chugged through gently rolling hills. Lush grass and trees covered the countryside with a deep and healthy green, a color broken only by the occasional stream or field of summer flowers. Alfred was silent for once—he'd curled up on the seat and was dozing with his head in Arthur's lap. Kiku and Madeleine had taken the other seats in the train compartment, ensuring that Arthur would have as much quiet as he wanted.

It felt strange to think that he was _finished_ with taking exams. He had his whole life ahead him... and not a single test left. Arthur liked studying, but he was ready for his real life to begin. Though he still felt a tinge of apprehension about moving to a new country, he just reminded himself that playing on a Quidditch team with Alfred would be all the best parts of Hogwarts with none of the worst.

As if Arthur's thoughts about the worst parts of Hogwarts had summoned them, the Slytherin trio racing past in their flying car, mooning the entire Hogwarts Express. Kiku covered his eyes, Madeleine snickered, and Arthur just sighed.

"There are _some_ things I won't miss," he muttered.

"Hmm?" Alfred murmured. He blinked his eyes and he yawned in a manner that Arthur found terribly cute, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

"It will certainly be quieter when you're all gone," Madeleine replied with a gentle grin. "I suppose that will be helpful so I can study for my NEWTs."

Alfred sat up and stretched. "I'll send howlers if it gets _too_ quiet," he promised.

She gave Alfred an unimpressed look. "Oh goody."

Alfred stuck out his tongue at her and they both laughed. Arthur just shook his head. Sometimes he didn't understand Americans _or_ Canadians. He turned his head back to the window, intending to spend the rest of the train ride admiring the lovely countryside as it rolled past. That plan was quickly derailed by Alfred's need for chatter. "Whatcha thinking about?" the American asked, nudging Arthur in the side.

Arthur rested his head on his hand and contemplated his answer. When he first started writing his speech, he'd briefly considered discussing how the graduating students had reached a point where they couldn't go back home to their childhood. They had all been changed by their time at Hogwarts, especially the muggle-born students, and would find they had outgrown their old homes. Yet, despite all of the changes it inspired in its students, Hogwarts itself remained very tradition-bound. Even the Hogwarts Express ran through a corridor that hadn't been altered in nearly a century. Arthur thought about commenting on the incongruity, before deciding that sort of speech was far too philosophical for a bunch of 18-year olds.

On a more personal level, Arthur reflected on the changes in himself and Alfred. At the beginning of the year, he had worried too much about his peers and not enough about satisfying his own desires. Part of Alfred's devil-may-care attitude had rubbed off on him. He in turn had helped ground Alfred, encouraging a bit more realism and pragmatism amidst the young man's wild flights of fantasy. It hadn't been a matter of giving up dreams or ambitions for either of them, just a lesson in finding dreams they could share.

Arthur felt all those thoughts pass through his head in a confused jumble. He turned to face Alfred and tried to express his contentment with a small smile, gesturing to the English countryside rolling past the window. "I was wondering how this compares to Virginia and Massachusetts," he said.

Alfred grinned and eagerly discussed the States with Arthur. They planned to travel first to Virginia, then to Massachusetts. They would swing by Salem so Alfred could register for Owl-Post Classes at the Salem Institute for his NEWTs. And their final destination was Fitchburg. Alfred explained that they would stay with one of his many cousins for a few days before finding a permanent place.

"You're going to love it," Alfred promised.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the train ride passed quickly as they talked and laughed. Alfred nearly ate himself sick with the sweets available on the trolley, but his cast-iron stomach protected him from lasting harm. Anyone who could eat Arthur's cooking could manage any flavor of Bertie's Beans. Before he knew it, Arthur felt the train pull into London. He wished Kiku and Madeleine a fond farewell, then apparated away with Alfred to their final London destination.

He had one more goodbye to say before he left.

The cemetery was empty as Arthur led the way to his parents' graves. He placed a lily on the grave marker and silently promised that he would come back to visit them at least once a year. After a moment of silence, he stepped back and reached for Alfred's hand. And together they left for new shores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Antonio makes a house-elf joke. (Master has given Dobby a sock. Dobby is free!)


	16. The World Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven years later...

As he climbed up to his seat, Arthur admired the elegant Luxembourgian stadium. It had been built over three centuries ago, the first time the tiny European nation had hosted the Quidditch World Cup. The basic stone structure rose out of the hillside, looking like an extension of the land itself. The stadium was enchanted to resemble a castle from the outside, with powerful anti-muggle repellant charms to ensure secrecy. Arthur climbed the rough-hewn stairs carefully, noting how years of stomping feet had worn down the stone steps in the middle.

Fortunately, the Englishman didn't have far to go. Family members of the team players sat in the very first row, giving them the best view of the action. He spotted Alfred's parents already in their seats and walked over to join them. They waved as he approached. He could see that they were well prepared with two thermoses of hot coffee, since it was a bit cloudy and chilly for August. "Is my boy raring to go?" Alfred's mother asked Arthur as he took his seat.

"Very much so," Arthur replied. Family members generally weren't allowed into the locker room, but teammates _were_ and Arthur fell into an unusual category. Even though the World Cup rules prevented him from playing on the American National Team, he was still technically allowed into the locker rooms because he played for an American Quidditch team. He had helped Alfred prepare and then given him a kiss for luck.

"I hope this one doesn't last as long as the game against Uganda," Alfred's father remarked, sipping from his thermos. Arthur nodded his agreement. The Uganda/America game had dragged on for 15 interminable hours. Even Alfred, normally a source of boundless energy, was exhausted by the end.

"Perhaps we'll be lucky and the American seeker will pull a Peru," Alfred's mother said, referring to Peru's victory over the Nordic Team in the first ten minutes of their match. The Nords had kept up their stoic expressions, but Arthur was sure they hated being kicked out of the tournament so quickly. That was the nature of the game, however; Arthur knew as well as anyone that the snitch could be a fickle ball.

Arthur stood up and cheered as the two teams took the field. He loved the sight of Alfred in navy blue and red robes and thought that the color matched the young man _much better_ than green. He even preferred them to the Finches' silver and red robes. Because the Fitchburg Finches were the best U.S. team, the American National Team consisted mostly of their fellow Finch players. Arthur couldn't play, so their seeker was from the Sweetwater All-Stars. She was an excellent seeker, even Arthur would admit, although not _quite_ as experienced as Arthur.

Along with the Americans came their mascots—a small herd of jackalopes. The horned bunny rabbits raced across the field and into the stadium, drawing cries of delight from children who had never seen such strange creatures. The jackalopes had candy tied to their horns and seemed to enjoy running away from any child who tried to catch them. Arthur smiled to himself. He was glad that Alfred was on the field, or else who would have been afraid that _Alfred_ would have joined in the chase.

The Argentineans arrived next with their mascots, a flock of alicantos. The birds' wings shimmered with beautiful, metallic colors and their eyes gleamed with light, filling the stadium with a kaleidoscope of lights and colors.

The raucous crowd cheered on the opposing teams and even Arthur found himself joining the chants and shouting until his voice grew hoarse. He would always be English at heart, but America had become his second home. Perhaps it was for the best that the English team had been knocked out early, saving Arthur the worry of having to watch his two teams compete and leaving him free to root for Alfred wholeheartedly.

The Brit wished he could have played, but he recognized that it was a good idea to limit players to their country of origin or else wealthy teams would poach from other countries. The only exception was the Transylvanian team. Since the nation itself no longer existed, they enjoyed somewhat looser rules. Despite not being able to play for either the Americans (because he was not American) or the English (because he played for an American Quidditch team), Arthur found himself enjoying the matches. He and Alfred had watched the English National Team's game against Scotland. Although England lost, Arthur took some comfort in Luxembourg's later victory over the Scottish team. After three rounds of matches, Japan had secured the place as runner-up, leaving the U.S. team and the Argentinean National Team to vie for the cup. It was the first time non-European teams had claimed the top three spots when a European country hosted, showing the rise in popularity Quidditch had enjoyed worldwide after the Second Wizarding War.

Barely an hour into the game, the Argentinean seeker spotted the snitch. Arthur held his breath, seeing instantly that the American seeker was on the far side of the field. The Argentinean raced for the snitch, but a bludger hit her in the side and sent her off course. By the time she got her bearings, the snitch had disappeared.

Arthur grinned, pleased that Alfred's aim had prevented an early Argentinean victory. Alfred's skill at spotting the snitch came in handy, allowing the young man to target the opposing team's seeker to prevent her from catching the snitch. In one of his most spectacular plays, Alfred had even used the bludger to hit a _snitch_ out of the way. He had accepted the compliments afterward with an _aw-shucks_ attitude, explaining that it wasn't any more difficult than bullseyeing womp rats (a reference that Arthur now understood).

Watching Alfred fly was always a joy, though Arthur spent the entire game worried that a bludger would hurt the other man. Alfred did take a nasty hit to his side at one point, but he drank a pain-numbing potion and soldiered on. Injuries were common during the game, but nothing that the experienced mediwizards couldn't heal.

When he was able to tear his eyes away from Alfred, Arthur searched the stadium for the snitch. He couldn't do anything to catch it, but years of Quidditch playing had engrained the habit too deeply for him to ignore.

Then he saw it. Amongst the flock of shimmering alicantos was a small point of light that wasn't quite the same shade of gold. Arthur sucked in his breath. The American seeker was so close. All she had to do was look up and she would see it. Just when Arthur thought she would never look in the right direction, the American seeker glanced up and her eyes widened. She darted straight up, catching the snitch and winning the game.

Arthur jumped to his feet and cheered. And he didn't stop cheering until Alfred swooped right in front of the stands and kissed him soundly.

After a few hours of boisterous celebration with the rest of the American team, Arthur and Alfred had left to meet up with friends who had traveled to Luxembourg for the 429th World Cup. Alfred had kept in touch with Madeleine, and by extension with Francis and the rest of the Slytherin trio, though 'trio' was no longer the right name as the group had expanded to become a sextet. (Though not a sextet in the way Francis would have preferred.)

Gilbert and his girlfriend Elizabeta both played for the Hungarian Horntails and had earned positions on the Transylvanian National Team, Gil as a chaser and Liz as a beater. Alfred liked swapping beater tips with Liz. Even better, sometimes she had _other_ tips, like her suggestion for how to have sex on a broomstick.

He wasn't sure when Antonio had met Emma, but the two made a very cheerful pair. Emma bred Kneazles and part-Kneazles to sell as pets. She said it was a robust trade, particularly when wizards and witches from all around the world came to attend Kattenstoet in Belgium. They would participate in the mock witch burnings and laugh at the muggles who had no idea that real witches still existed. Kneazles were particularly popular at the festival because they strongly resembled cats.

Madeleine and Francis meanwhile had started a successful bakery near Beauxbatons. They had set up a tent outside the stadium and were busy during the matches selling their specialty pastries. Madeleine apologized for not making it to watch the final game, but Alfred reassured her that sending a care package of éclairs for the American team was a _fantastic_ way to show her support. He didn't bother to mention that he ate more than half of the desserts himself.

Kiku and his wife Mei had arrived in time to see the Japanese team take the runner-up position and stayed to watch the final match. Alfred wasn't sure how exactly Arthur kept in touch with Kiku, since it definitely wasn't by owl or by phone. The one time he had asked, Arthur claimed that Flying Mint Bunny made the voyage to deliver his messages. Alfred doubted that the flying bunny even existed, but they had a unicorn living in their garage—Arthur refused to leave behind _any_ of his magical friends—so he had left it at that.

The restaurants were packed, leading the ten of them to cram into a booth that was only intended to hold eight. Alfred found that he didn't mind the crowded conditions, since it meant Arthur was practically sitting in his lap. He rested his hand on Arthur's thigh and smiled as Arthur entwined their fingers together.

"Oh man, I wanted to eat pizza but they don't have it," Alfred said with as sigh, as he paged through the menu with his other hand. They didn't have hamburgers either, even though Hamburg was fewer than six hours away.

"You should try the Gromperekichelcher," Gil replied. "It's awesome."

"What's that?" Madeleine asked.

"They're like Kartoffelpuffer," he explained unhelpfully.

Elizabeta rolled her eyes and swacked Gil lightly on the shoulder. "They're potato pancakes," she translated.

"Pancakes?" Madeleine said, licking her lips. "Well, I'm sold."

"You should get waffles," Emma teased. "The Brussels ones are the best." The two young women resumed their usual waffles vs. pancakes debate, trying to draw the others into picking sides in a lighthearted battle of the breakfast foods.

Alfred just smiled and replied, "Scones are my favorite."

"I think you must have a half-giant in your ancestry somewhere if you can eat Arthur's scones and live to tell the tale," Francis snarked. Arthur tossed a breadstick at the Frenchman while the rest of the table laughed.

They settled down as their food arrived. Food was one of the few things that could shut Alfred up, leaving him to focus on chewing while the others talked. He probably wasn't _supposed_ to eat an entire Quetschentaart on his own, but he did anyway. He let Arthur have a few bites though, because he was a good boyfriend.

After Arthur finished his cup of tea, Alfred pulled it closer to read the dregs. He hummed to himself as he tried to make sense of the symbols. It looked like a lot of leftover tea leaves in the bottom of a cup. He was pretty sure that fortune meant 'you just drank a cup of tea.' And Arthur always said he lacked imagination. Then Alfred spotted a familiar figure walking toward them out of the corner of his eye. It was a good thing he had already set the tea cup on the table or he might have dropped it.

"Arthur, I think you're going to run into a relative in the very near future," he said.

"That's an... oddly specific divination," Arthur replied, glancing down at the tea cup. "Are you sure you're reading the symbols right?"

"I wasn't looking at the symbols. I was looking at your cousin," Alfred replied, pointing out the young man who had crossed the room and nearly reached their table. Peter Kirkland was taller, though he still had the same sandy-blond hair and thick eyebrows that marked him as a member of the Kirkland family.

Arthur turned to face his cousin and gaped. "Peter?" he slowly asked. He slipped out of the booth so he could talk to his cousin face to face. "My goodness, you've certainly grown."

Peter grinned. "And you're still as short as ever."

"Other than being a brat, what have you been up to?" Arthur asked. He had lost contact with his aunt and uncle after moving to America, not that he much cared. As far as he was concerned, the summers he had spent with them was a time best forgotten. He much preferred to think of Hogwarts as his _true_ childhood home.

"I'm working with a couple of dragonologists studying the Swedish Short-Snout," Peter explained eagerly. "We came down to watch the Cup. They left after the Nords lost, but I stayed to see the final game. It's too bad about the English team."

"I know! They really need a better keeper, and their seeker couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map," Arthur replied. Some people said that Quidditch was England's national sport. But actually, _complaining_ about Quidditch was the real national sport.

Peter laughed. "Well, if you wanted them to have a better seeker, you could always come back, you know," he suggested.

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. "No, that's not going to happen," he said. After living through the tension of being rivals, he had made a promise to himself that he would never again play on a team opposing Alfred. Perhaps they would move back to England after retiring from Quidditch, but until then he planned to stay with the Finches.

The teenager suddenly glanced down at his feet. "I came looking for you 'cause I saw you at the final match," he explained. "I'm sorry about all the trouble I caused you my first year," he mumbled.

Arthur blinked in surprise but quickly accepted the apology. "It's alright, I understand," he said, gently patting Peter's shoulder. "I did a few things I shouldn't have done my first year too."

"Really?" Peter looked up. "Like what?"

"Well... I thought it was cruel to keep magical creatures in stables, so I set them all free. The groundskeeper spent half the year tracking down all the Nifflers and Bowtruckles. They never did find the Demiguise or Kitsune," Arthur said, which was only a slight lie.

Peter grinned. "I bet your housemates were happy to skip Care of Magical Creatures. Mine spent a few years annoyed at me for losing the Quidditch Cup. But we won it back in my fourth year."

"Good. I wouldn't want those Slytherins to cheat-win all the time."

"I can hear you, you know," Alfred called from the table.

"Arthur spent so much time in Slytherin dorm by the end we practically made him an honorary member," Francis added.

"I'm sure the thought of a mudblood in his house would have sent Salazar Slytherin spinning in his grave," Arthur shot back.

"Guys, guys, stop fighting, we can all be Hufflepuffs," Madeleine said. "The best house," she quickly added, starting up a whole new house war among the table members who had added Hogwarts. Emma and Elizabeth watched in amusement, both pleased that they had gone to wizarding schools that didn't use a house system.

"You know, I bet Salazar and Godric totally had the hots for each other," Gilbert said.

Antonio nodded. "It would explain a lot about their houses."

"Well, what about Rowena and Helga?" Elizabeta suggested with a grin, sending the table off into a discussion of the founders' love lives and how it might explain why Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students got along so well. Kiku nodded his strong approval. Arthur smiled to himself, amused at how much his best friend still liked to play matchmaker, even with historical figures. He found it hard to be annoyed by Kiku's matchmaking tendencies, given that he had benefited from them personally.

He turned back to face Peter. "We should keep in touch," Arthur said, and he found that actually meant it. It wasn't like Arthur had many family members to choose from, and the teenager wasn't half as much of a brat as he used to be. Moving away from his parents had undoubtedly played a role. They exchanged numbers and promised to stay in contact.

"Well, I need to get back before Tino starts worrying," Peter added. "I swear, some days he acts like I'm 9 instead of 19."

"Take care. It was good to see you," Arthur replied, impulsively grabbing his cousin in a quick hug. Living with Americans and their constant physical affection had started to rub off on him, especially since Alfred's family had always been so warm and welcoming. It was hard to miss what he'd never had, and Arthur realized that he would never have a _normal_ family, but at least what he had was his.

* * *

Arthur and Alfred took the scenic path back to the American team's tents, holding hands as they enjoyed the cool evening night. Amid the comfortable silence, Alfred broached the question of whether this would be their last year with the Finches. Quidditch was a fun sport, but he wanted to start a business making adult-themed potions.

"I've been thinking a bit about a writing career," Arthur admitted, agreeing that it might be time to consider something new. "Perhaps a children's novel about a young muggle-born wizard who goes to Hogwarts and befriends all sorts of magical creatures. Then he helps one become a student and they have wonderful adventures," he mused aloud, explaining the plot for his roman à clef.

"So you want to write nonfiction?" Alfred asked with a grin.

Arthur laughed. "Actually, I'd like to label it fiction and sell it to muggles. Everyone deserves to have a bit of magic in their life, if only vicariously." He caught the look on Alfred's face and smiled. "You're going to say something ridiculously sappy, aren't you?"

"Well... I was going to suggest that meeting _you_ was pretty magical, but I think maybe I'll just kiss you instead," he said, leaning close. He gave Arthur a peck on the lips. "I wish you could have played with us in the match today," he murmured, resting his forehead against Arthur's.

"I had a splendid time watching you, love," Arthur reassured him. He had seen Alfred fly a thousand times, but he still loved the sight. "You know, I suspect that the rest of the team is still off partying," he suggested, casually letting his hand slide down Alfred's back until it rested on the young man's firm derrière.

Alfred caught on quickly. "Gee, I really _could_ use a good butt massage."

And the next day when he blamed his sore butt and slight limp on 'riding a broomstick' for several hours, he was only slightly exaggerating. It hadn't really been _hours_.

* * *

Alfred and Arthur played their final professional Quidditch game on a beautiful spring day.

The Finches quickly racked up a high score, drawing loud cheers from their side of the stands. Ever since the American team's World Cup victory, they had enjoyed particularly excited crowds and packed stadiums. Arthur scanned the field, knowing that the only way to turn their lead into a victory was by catching the snitch. Even in the thick of action, dodging other players and brooms, Arthur found it easy to maintain his calm focus. He gazed out across the field, allowing instinct and experience to guide him. He flew off like a shot as soon as he spotted a golden glimmer. He kept one hand on the broom shaft and reached out with the other to claim his prize. With a smirk, he had the cool, metal ball nestled in the palm of his hand.

Arthur landed on the pitch, enjoying the stadium's cheers as he held the golden snitch aloft. He felt the snitch start to move again and he brought it down to eye level, watching in surprise as it unfolded in the palm of his hand. Within the hollow sphere was a small note, two golden rings, and a sterling silver acorn swaddled in cotton. The note had a simple question:

_Will you marry me? - AFJ_

Arthur felt a gust of air next to him and turned to see Alfred landing nearby. The American gave him a brilliant smile and cocked his head to the side, waiting for his answer. Arthur gently touched one of the rings, enjoying its clean, elegant lines. He lifted it up and looked at Alfred through the golden circle. "What would you have done if the other seeker had caught this?" he teased.

"Well, I guess I would've had to marry her," Alfred drawled as he rubbed his chin and grinned mischievously. "So it's a good thing _you_ caught it, babe." He stepped closer and showed Arthur how the silver acorn popped open to reveal a thimble inside.

Arthur held the thimble up into the sunlight and admired the intricate carvings of horse shoes and four-leaf clovers along the base. It looked old, but had clearly been well cared for. "Sometimes I think you rely a bit too much on luck," Arthur replied, his lips quirking upward even as he continued to admire the beauty of the antique thimble.

"Hey, it's worked pretty well so far," Alfred said with a shrug and a grin.

The Englishman placed the thimble back into its cotton swaddling. "Well, it's a lovely choice of symbols," he said, impressed by the amount of thought that had gone into the proposal. Alfred must have dug out his divinations book to find that acorns meant happiness and contentment and thimble meant a nurturing home life.

Alfred grinned nervously. "It's more than that. That's my great-great-grandmother's engagement thimble. They used them instead of rings back in the 1800s." He clasped Arthur's hands in his. "You still haven't given me an answer," he reminded.

"That's..." Arthur tried to speak but found himself suddenly choked up. Keeping a tight grasp on snitch and its wonderful contents, he took one step forward and kissed Alfred so hard that he nearly knocked the other man over. There was an entire stadium celebrating their team's victory, but at that moment it felt like they were the only two people on the field. After a long and glorious kiss, Arthur slipped the larger engagement ring onto Alfred's ring finger. "That's a yes, in case you were wondering," he said.

He gave the smaller ring to Alfred, who carefully slipped it onto the wrong hand. After reminding Alfred that the ring was supposed to go on his _left_ hand, Alfred grinned and correct his mistake. Glancing down at his ring-finger, Arthur admired the simple gold band. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

The best sort of luck wasn't a matter of getting what he thought he wanted. It was matter of getting what he _had_ , and being smart enough to see that it was what he would have wanted had he known all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using a thimble instead of a ring as an engagement present was pretty common in Colonial America because Puritans didn't like jewelry and preferred something useful. The practice actually continued until the late 1800s, so I've based the designs on images I found online of thimbles from the late 1800s. The acorn-shaped thimble holder and luck symbols on a thimble are real things. Also, I love chances for Arthur to show off his knowledge of tessomancy symbols ;)


	17. Lemony Omake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The abridged version and the reason ffnet deleted this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a choose-your-own-smut adventure! If you want UKUS, start after the abridged version, enjoy the smut, then skip to "Option III: The Next Morning." If you want USUK, skip to "Option II: USUK" (ctrl-f is your friend) and then just keep reading.
> 
> If you don't want any smut at all, read the abridged version and go to "Option III: The Next Morning" (but this is basically a smut chapter, so the non-smut is pretty short). If you like both UKUS and USUK, you can certainly read both, but it's pretty much 90% overlap because I was lazy.

O-M-A-K-E

**The Extremely Abridged Quidditch House Rules**

_Chapter 1_

**Sorting Hat** : Alfred Jones... Slytherin!

 **Arthur** : Damn it.

 **Sorting Hat** : Peter Kirkland... Gryffindor!

 **Arthur** : Shoot me now.

_Chapter 2_

**Alfred** : Let's be friends!

 **Arthur** : I already have friends. Magical, invisible friends.

 **Alfred** : Fine! I'll get my own invisible friend. Hi Maddie!

_Chapter 3_

**Alfred** : Enough about love potions. Read my tea leaves! Do I have a short, ill-tempered, alcoholic Brit in my future?

 **Arthur** : ... what? How did you know that?! You said you were terrible at divinations.

 **Alfred** : Well, I can't read tea leaves, but I sure can read a fanfic summary.

_Chapter 4_

**Arthur** : I hate when AUs include a Revolutionary War bit.

 **Alfred** : Because it makes you really sad?

 **Arthur** : No, because my clothes get all muddy.

_Chapter 5_

**Madeleine** : Arthur, if I tell you where Alfred is, can you two _please_ just get a room already?

 **Kiku** : * Pulls out video recorder *

_Chapter 6_

**Arthur** : I dun get *hic* why e'erybody loves rummy England *hic* so much.

 **Alfred** : Because you're honest and horny, not to mention...

 **Arthur** : Kiss me, America! * passes out on top of Alfred *

 **Alfred** : ...it does wonders for our unresolved sexual tension.

_Chapter 7_

**Arthur** : Now that I'm sober, let the kissing commence.

 **Alfred** : Take me now! * falls off seat *

 **Arthur** : On second thought, a moving train might not be the best place.

 **Alfred** : Then I will sit here consumed with lust for the rest of the train ride.

_Chapter 8_

**Arthur** : Alfred, I enjoy spending time with your family.

 **Alfred** : Really? That's great!

 **Arthur** : Yes. I see now that one advantage of being an orphan is that my mother can't share embarrassing baby pictures with my boyfriends.

 **Alfred** : Uh...

 **Arthur** : Because she's dead.

 **Alfred** : * awkward turtle *

_Chapter 9_

**Peter** : You're dating the Slytherin seeker!

 **Arthur** : Please, that's completely ridiculous and untrue.

 **Peter** : Don't lie to me! The internet told me what USUK means!

_Chapter 10_

**Announcer** : The Hufflepuffs win!

 **Everyone Else** : Who?

_Chapter 11_

**Alfred** : Arthur, I wrote you a Valentine's Day poem.

Your eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
Your hair as soft as powered asphodel.  
I'm glad you're mine, you're really divine,  
The lion who conquered my heart.

 **Arthur** : Wow.

 **Alfred** : I know, right?

 **Arthur** : That's almost as effective as a hate potion at making me question why I love you.

_Chapter 12_

**Alice** : Why does everyone keep comparing me to a bunny?

 **Francis** : Mon lapin, it is not an insult. You would not be _ordinary_ rabbit. You would be an animal with nasty, big, pointy teeth and a vicious streak a mile wide!

 **Tim the Enchanter** : Run away! Run away! She is the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog!

 **Alice** : You know, I wondered how long it would take before someone made a Monty Python reference.

_Chapter 13_

**Gryffindors** : Yay, we won!

 **Slytherins** : * Yoink *

 **Gryffindors** : WTF?

This Quidditch victory brought to you by the Slytherin House. "Crushing Gryffindor Dreams Since 993 C.E."

_Chapter 14_

**Alfred** : So, we're on the same team and kissing in public and just letting the haters hate. I think we've got it made, babe.

 **Arthur** : There's still one more thing...

 **Peter** : Why can't I be on a Quidditch team? WHY?!

 **Arthur** : * watches Peter cry * Okay, _now_ everything is perfect.

_Chapter 15_

**Arthur:** *gives rousing speech*

 **Alfred:** *is aroused* _  
_

_Chapter 16  
_

**Arthur** : Yes, of course I'll marry you!

 **Alfred** : This is the happiest day of my life.

 **Arthur** : Better than winning Hogwart's Quidditch Cup?

 **Alfred** : Yep

 **Arthur** : Even better than winning the World Cup?

 **Alfred** : Heck yeah.

 **Arthur** : Is it better than broomstick sex and lots of chocolate?

 **Alfred** : Huh, I think that's a trick question. On the plus side, babe, I've just figured out plans for our honeymoon!

_Chapter 17 (Smutty Omake)_

**Arthur** : Alfie's Every Flavor Lube? I'm dubious.

 **Alfred** : One of the flavors is rum.

 **Arthur** : Sold!

* * *

**Option I: UKUS**

It was obvious that Arthur was the one who had decorated the bedroom in their Fitchburg house because the walls were a charming shade of yellow instead of boasting patriotic stars-and-stripes wallpaper or superhero posters. Alfred had agreed to the color based on its name—lemon chiffon. He liked shades that reminded him of desserts. Tall, built-in bookcases stood on either side of a large bay window. During the summer, Arthur would open the windows and curl up with a book, looking completely relaxed as the wind gently ruffled his hair.

Because it was an old house, their bedroom even had a fireplace. On cold winter nights, Alfred loved nothing more than snuggling up next to Arthur in front of a roaring fire. He also liked making love in the warmth of the fire; the flames cast a warm glow that made their flushed skin seem to blaze with the colors of a sunset.

On this fine autumn evening, however, Alfred had a different plan. He brought one of their old broomsticks up to the bedroom and covered the shaft with a blanket. He tossed off his clothes and then lounged on the broom, finding a comfortable position hovering just a couple feet over the ground. He grinned as his husband walked into the bedroom. Arthur stood in place and gaped, momentarily struck speechless by the sight of a naked American straddling a broomstick.

"So, babe, I've been thinking..." Alfred began to explain.

"Well, uh, that's new," Arthur replied, stumbling over his words. He wanted to make his snarky reply sound a little more biting, but the necessary circuits in his brain must have shorted out. For some reason, the only words that easily came to mind were 'fuck' and 'yes.'

Enjoying Arthur's flustered response, Alfred shook his finger. "None of your sass, mister," he warned teasingly. "I've been thinking that we should give this a try."

Arthur took in the sight of Alfred hovering just above the floor and quickly realized what 'this' meant. Alfred wanted to ride the broomstick while Arthur rode him. "Fuck yes," he replied, thanking his brain for giving him the right response. He strode forward, tossing off his shirt and loosening his belt. His pants dropped to the floor and he kicked them off with practiced ease. Sometimes he liked a slow game of strip tease, but at the moment he just wanted his clothes to melt away.

Arthur admired his naked husband for a moment, before sitting sideways on the broom shaft for a bit of foreplay. He twisted his body to face Alfred, kissing him fiercely and tracing his fingers along the other man's chest and abs. Alfred had filled out nicely since his time at Hogwarts, adding a few inches in height and a significant amount of muscle. Arthur looked down, admiring how Alfred's cock had also grown. Just like a broomstick it could obey simple commands—especially 'up!'

While Arthur was distracted, Alfred grabbed him around the waist and left a bruising kiss on Arthur's neck. Arthur moaned as he felt Alfred's calloused hands slide to his thighs and then start to beat him off, even as they continued to kiss—hungry open-mouth kisses that filled Arthur with a haze of pleasure. An inarticulate moan escaped Arthur's lips. The breathtaking kisses and strokes were marvelous, but it wasn't quite what he thought Alfred had in mind.

As if sensing Arthur's unasked question, Alfred held up a bottle of homemade lotion with a wink and a grin. Arthur felt a wonderful warm and tingling sensation as Alfred coated him with a bit of lotion. The scent of chocolate suddenly filled the air. "Do you like it?" Alfred asked. "It _tastes_ like chocolate too." He grinned and spread more of the lotion on his fingers. With vigorous stroking motions, he thickly coated Arthur's cock. He wanted it good and slick, and he enjoyed lathering on the lotion.

Satisfied with a job well down, Alfred capped the bottle. As he set it on the floor, an idea occurred to him. He still hadn't tried the chocolate-flavored lube in _action_ and he wanted a taste. He licked his lips and leaned forward, touching his mouth to the tip of Arthur's cock. He began with just a small lick, enjoying the milky chocolate flavor. He then opened his mouth and worked his way down, luxuriating in the feeling of a warm, pulsing cock in his mouth. His head bobbed up and down—making the broomstick move in tandem—as he tried to take in more and more of the delicious taste. The chocolate flavor merged perfectly with Arthur's soft, salty skin, just as he had imagined it would.

Arthur slipped his fingers into Alfred's hair. He pulled back gently, letting Alfred know to stop. He loved the feel of Alfred's warm and welcoming mouth, so moist and perfect, but tonight Arthur wanted to hold himself at the edge of ecstasy for as long as he could manage. He wanted it to be a ride Alfred would never forget.

"Lotion?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the bottle on the floor.

Alfred nodded. "Just a sec," he said, grinning and licking his fingers, one at a time. He moved them back and forth in his mouth, relishing the friction and the delightfully sweet taste. He licked his lips with satisfaction. Alfred had created a _very_ successful line of magical lotions for the bedroom and he could tell this would be another winner. Arthur felt a swell of passion fill his chest as he watched Alfred's little show, admiring the flushed reddish sheen to his skin and his heavy lust-filled eyes. He couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing the young man, trying to get a taste of his mouth.

The broomstick dipped downward as Alfred grabbed the potion off the floor. He handed the bottle of lotion to Arthur, who coated his own fingers and added a large dollop to the palm of his hand. Finished, he tossed the bottle to the bed. With his normal fluid grace, Arthur slipped around the other man, lifting his leg easily over the broom and firmly planting his feet on the ground. It was a tight squeeze between the broomstick bristles and Alfred's butt, but he could make it work.

"Just a touch higher, love," Arthur said, giving Alfred's bum an affectionate pat. The broom rose slightly and Alfred leaned forward, lying flat on the broomstick in open invitation. Even though Alfred begged for him to hurry up, Arthur waited until the lubricating lotion was warm in his hands. He gently circled his first finger before pressing in, drawing a loud and wonderful moan from Alfred. Arthur took his time exploring and stretching before he added the second finger. Alfred cried out excitedly as Arthur began scissoring his slick fingers. Alfred eagerly jutted backwards, causing the entire broomstick to shift. Arthur toppled forward and they both landed in a heap of naked limbs on the floor, with Arthur mostly resting on top of Alfred.

Perhaps a broomstick wasn't the best option.

Arthur pulled himself to his feet and gave Alfred a hand to help him up. He kissed the other man and tweaked his nipples as punishment. "Shall we try that again?" he asked, eyeing Alfred's still-erect cock.

"Second time's the charm," Alfred said, eagerly repositioning himself and the blanket on the broomstick. The tumble hadn't dampened his mood at all.

"Third time, generally," Arthur replied. "So try to hold still." He swung his leg behind Alfred and this time he grasped the other man's hips to hold him steady. The broom nestled between Arthur's smooth thighs, tickling him in a wonderfully pleasant manner. Hands firmly planted, he pushed in gently, drawing a long moan from Alfred's throat. Alfred clenched and then adjusted, eagerly letting Arthur know when he was ready to pick up the pace—faster, harder, _more_. The sound of galloping breaths and sharp moans filled the bedroom. Arthur pounded him mercilessly and barely noticed in his haze of pleasure as the broomstick began to shake beneath him.

But instead of tumbling, Alfred used the broom to rock slightly backward as Arthur pushed forward, intensifying the power of each thrust. The moist warmth felt amazing. Arthur gasped, filled with euphoria. He kept his hands clasped on Alfred's hips to prevent the energetic young man from overbalancing and sending them falling to the floor again. Alfred's loud pants and breathless moans reassured him that his husband was enjoying the tight pressure and forceful thrusts as much as he was.

Arthur's entire body felt alive with pleasure, like he was encased in a sauna. His world narrowed to breathless moans and electrifying passion and heat like dragon fire searing through his veins. His vision dimmed as he poured himself into Alfred.

Arthur shuddered and collapsed against Alfred's back, grateful that the broomstick was strong enough to support them both. It took him a moment to realize that they were moving closer to the bed, the sensation of flying blending in with the feeling of passionate sex. It barely registered when he landed with a dull thump onto the sheets. They lay entwined as they caught their breath, Arthur spooning Alfred, and Alfred still wrapped around the broomstick. Arthur sighed drowsily, fighting back sleep as he heard Alfred say something. "Hmm?" he asked. The American rotated his head to the side so Arthur could hear him easier.

"I was wondering if you wanted to join me for a quick shower, sleepy-head, but that sounds like a no," Alfred replied with a gentle chuckle. Alfred smiled as he listened to Arthur's breathing even out. Staying in the warm bed sounded nice, but it probably wasn't worth the risk of slivers and he hated the feeling of dried cum in the morning. He slipped out of Arthur's grasp and set the broomstick against the bedroom wall. Hearing Arthur murmur unhappily as the warmth of his body heat disappeared, Alfred covered him with a blanket and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Be right back," he promised.

Alfred showered quickly and returned with a washcloth for Arthur. Arthur mumbled something incomprehensible as Alfred cleaned him off. Alfred tossed the towel to the floor and curled up against Arthur, pulling the blanket over both of them. Arthur spoke again and this time his words were clear. "I love you," Arthur murmured as he wrapped his arms around Alfred, head resting against his husband's neck.

"I know," Alfred replied, smiling contentedly as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**Option II: USUK**

It was obvious that Arthur was the one who had decorated the bedroom in their Fitchburg house because the walls were a charming shade of yellow instead of boasting patriotic stars-and-stripes wallpaper or superhero posters. Alfred had agreed to the color based on its name—lemon chiffon. He liked shades that were named after desserts. Tall, built-in bookcases stood on either side of a large bay window. During the summer, Arthur would open the windows and curl up with a book, looking completely relaxed as the wind gently ruffled his hair.

Because it was an old house, their bedroom even had a fireplace. On cold winter nights, Alfred loved nothing more than snuggling up with Arthur in front of a roaring fire. He also liked making love in the warmth of the fire; the flames cast a warm glow that made their flushed skin seem to blaze with the colors of a sunset.

On this fine autumn evening, however, Alfred had a different plan. He brought one of their old broomsticks up to the bedroom and covered the shaft with a blanket. He tossed off his clothes and then lounged on the broom, finding a comfortable position hovering just a couple feet over the ground. He grinned as his husband walked into the bedroom. Arthur stood in place and gaped, momentarily struck speechless by the sight of a naked American straddling a broomstick.

"So, babe, I've been thinking..." Alfred began to explain. He patted the broomstick and invited Arthur to join him.

"You've been listening to Elizabeta, more like," Arthur replied. But he still grinned and walked forward, tossing off his shirt and loosening his belt. His pants dropped to the floor and he kicked them off with practiced ease. Sometimes he liked a slow game of strip tease, but at the moment he just wanted his clothes to melt away. He wasn't quite sure what naked time with the broomstick would entail, but he was willing to give it a try.

"Yep, and I've spent _all day_ thinking about how I could take you on a broom," Alfred explained as Arthur disrobed. "All the potential positions and fan-fucking-tastic noises you'd make," he drawled.

"Sounds like you've been a busy boy," Arthur replied with a smirk. He sat down on the broom backwards, straddling it so that he was directly facing his husband.

"Mmm-hmm," Alfred cheerfully agreed. "If you lay on the broom and I stand behind you, I think we'd get a good angle. What do you say, darling?"

Arthur thought it over and decided it could work. He waited a moment to let the tension building, admiring his naked and endearingly eager husband. Alfred had filled out nicely since his time at Hogwarts, adding height and a significant amount of muscle. Arthur looked down, enjoying how Alfred's cock had also grown. "I think that sounds marvelous. I'd cast an engorgement charm, but all _your_ broomstick needs is a little 'up' command," he purred. He leaned forward and kissed Alfred fiercely and tracing his fingers along the other man's chest and abs. He let his hands slide to Alfred's thighs, even as they continued to kiss—hungry open-mouth kisses that filled Arthur with a haze of pleasure. An inarticulate moan escaped Arthur's lips. "Lube?" Arthur asked huskily, in-between kisses.

Alfred held up a bottle of homemade lotion with a wink and a grin. He handed it over. Arthur opened the bottle and the sharp scent of rum filled his nostrils. "Do you like it?" Alfred asked. "It _tastes_ like rum too."

Arthur grinned and spread the lotion onto his fingers. With vigorous stroking motions, he thickly coated Alfred's cock. He wanted it good and slick, and he enjoyed lathering on the lotion. Satisfied with a job well down, Arthur capped the bottle. As he set it on the floor, an idea occurred to him. He licked his lips and leaned forward, touching his mouth to the tip of Alfred's cock. He began with just a small kiss, enjoying the sharp rum flavor. He then opened his mouth and worked his way down, luxuriating in the feeling of a warm, pulsing cock in his mouth. His head bobbed up and down—making the broomstick move in tandem—as he tried to take in more and more of the delicious taste. The rum flavor merged perfectly with Alfred's salty skin.

Alfred slipped his fingers into Arthur's hair. "Hnn... real close," he warned, gently pulling up on Arthur's hair. He loved the feel of Arthur's warm and welcoming mouth, so moist and perfect, but tonight Alfred wanted to hold himself at the edge of ecstasy for as long as he could manage. He wanted it to be a ride Arthur would never forget.

Arthur nodded. "One moment, love," he said, as he grinned and licked his fingers, one at a time. He moved them back and forth in his mouth, relishing the friction and the delightfully sweet taste. He licked his lips with satisfaction when he finished. Alfred had created a _very_ successful line of magical lotions for the bedroom and he could tell this would be another winner.

Alfred felt a swell of passion fill his chest as he watched Arthur's little show, admiring the flushed reddish sheen to his normally pale skin and the dark green tint of his heavy lust-filled eyes. Alfred couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing the other man, trying to get a taste of his mouth. The broomstick dipped downward as Alfred grabbed the potion off the floor. He coated his fingers and added a large dollop to the palm of his hand. Finished, he tossed the bottle to the bed. Alfred stood up and lifted a leg over the broom so that he was standing directly behind Arthur.

"Babe, could you move up a bit?" Alfred said, giving Arthur's butt an affectionate pat. The broom rose slightly and Arthur leaned forward, lying flat on the broomstick in open invitation. The Englishman buried his face against the blanket-covered bristles. Alfred gently circled his first finger before pressing in, drawing a loud and wonderful moan of pleasure from Arthur. He took his time exploring and stretching before he added the second finger. Arthur cried out excitedly as Alfred began scissoring his slick fingers.

"Get on with it," Arthur demanded eagerly after Alfred finished with the third finger.

"Okay, darling. Try to hold still," Alfred replied. He grasped the other man's hips to hold him steady. Hands and feet firmly planted, he gently pushed in, drawing a long moan from Arthur's throat. Arthur clenched and then adjusted, eagerly letting Alfred know when he was ready to pick up the pace. The sound of galloping breaths and sharp moans filled the bedroom. Alfred thrust eagerly and barely noticed in his haze of pleasure as the broomstick began to shake beneath him.

But instead of tumbling, Arthur used the broom to rock slightly backward as Alfred pushed forward, intensifying the power of each thrust. The moist warmth felt _amazing_. Alfred gasped, filled with euphoria. Arthur's loud pants and breathless moans reassured him that his husband was enjoying the tight pressure and thrusts as much as he was. Alfred's entire body felt alive with pleasure, like he was encased in a sauna. His world narrowed to breathless moans and electrifying passion and heat like dragon fire searing through his veins. His vision dimmed as he poured himself into Arthur.

Alfred shuddered and leaned against Arthur's back, glad that the broomstick was strong enough to support them both. He reached around to check if his husband still needed a helping hand, but the sticky warmth on Arthur's stomach reassured him that Arthur had enjoyed the ride too. Grasping the broom shaft, Alfred backed the broomstick to the bed. They landed together with a dull thump and lay entwined as they caught their breath, Alfred spooning Arthur, and Arthur still wrapped around the broomstick.

Alfred smiled as he listened to Arthur's breathing even out. He liked cuddling after sex, whereas Arthur promptly fell asleep. Fortunately, Alfred was more than happy to cuddle Arthur while he slept. If anything, Arthur looked even cuter while he was sleeping. Noticing that Arthur still held the broomstick, Alfred gently pried it from his grasp and tossed it to the floor. The clatter of wood on the floor was enough to briefly rouse Arthur.

"I love you," Alfred murmured as he gently pressed his lips against Arthur's soft hair.

"I know," Arthur replied, sighing contentedly as he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

**Option III: The Next Morning**

Alfred normally wasn't a morning person, but he knew that if he didn't get up before Arthur on Sundays, Arthur would be the one to make breakfast. Despite paying for cooking lessons and buying a thorough collection of cookbooks, Arthur still couldn't manage anything more complicated than toast. (And even then, the toast ended up burnt on one side and completely uncooked on the other.) Which is why Arthur woke up to an empty bed and walked downstairs to find Alfred making biscuits and gravy. Alfred insisted that he didn't need any help, so Arthur read the Sunday paper while he waited.

Their kitchen had the same light and airy feel as the rest of the house. Large windows in the breakfast nook gave them a wonderful view of Arthur's garden. Arthur selected a wide variety of plants, allowing them to enjoy blooming flowers year round. White asters, red chrysanthemums, and tall goldenrod gave their backyard a distinctly autumn feel.

Arthur prepared a cup of tea—the one thing he could reliably do without setting the kitchen on fire—and sat down at the small wicker table they kept in their breakfast nook. He summoned the newspaper from their doorstep and sipped his tea. As Arthur flipped through the paper, an article about wizarding foster families caught his eye.

"Gaunt Orphanage Closing Delayed," he said, reading one of the headlines aloud. Arthur had been following the story closely and he approved of the efforts to deinstitutionalize the children. "Seems like they're having a hard time finding homes for some of the suspected squibs," he remarked. It was impossible to know if a very young child had inherited their parents' power. Many wizarding families were as thrilled by their child's first magical spell as they were by the child's first word or first successful walk—they treated it as a joyous occasion deserving of great celebration. But after the fourth or fifth birthday, parents started to question their child's magical prowess. Arthur's heart ached for the poor children who had been left alone in the world and treated as inferior just because of suspected lack of magical abilities.

"Yeah, my mom mentioned that in her last letter," Alfred replied, still standing in front of the stove as he continued to stir the homemade sausage gravy.

Arthur smiled; he had wanted to bring the topic up casually to gauge Alfred's interest, but it seemed Alfred's mother had beat him to it. "Your mother wants grandchildren any way she can get them," he explained.

Alfred blinked. "Oh, is that what she was hinting at?" He hummed to himself as he pulled the perfectly golden biscuits out of the oven. They steamed as he broke them in half and smothered them with gravy. Alfred set one of the plates in front of Arthur and plopped down into the wicker chair across from his husband. He took a bite, swallowed, and glanced up at Arthur. "We could, you know," he said.

The words warmed Arthur's heart, but he didn't want to pressure Alfred into a decision he might regret. "A child's a lot of work," Arthur warned.

"We've got the guest bedroom and a nice collection of kids stories since we have all the ones you've written," Alfred said, referring to Arthur's lucrative post-Quidditch career writing children's books. "Plus, I always figured we got a big house because we would at some point."

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. "And here I thought you wanted a large house just so you could ride around on a broomstick indoors."

Alfred grinned. "That too."

"Well, we shouldn't rush into a decision. Mull it over, and I'll see what the application process entails," Arthur said before taking another sip of his tea. He knew it was a good idea to take his time and ponder the options, but his heart had already reached a decision. "And you probably shouldn't mention it to your mum until everything is finalized," he added. He didn't want prodding from Mama Jones to tip the scales.

"Yes, Mum," Alfred cheekily replied. He happily finished the rest of his breakfast and left to go take Silver for a walk. He looked a little silly walking around with an invisible unicorn on a leash, but they lived in a wizarding neighborhood and the neighbors were used to seeing strange things.

Arthur finished his tea and the rest of the newspaper. By habit, he glanced at the bottom of the cup and saw that his tea leaves had formed the shape of a teddy bear. Smiling to himself, Arthur decided that his next sewing project would be a bear.

Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was deleted from ffnet, so I'm reuploading the original here! 
> 
> (I checked the underage warning because the boys are 16 and 17 and things get pretty steamy.)
> 
> Gryffindor vs. Slytherin
> 
> Alfred acts like the Gryffindor posterboy most of the time, but I think there are elements of his personality that would fit well within Slytherin. For example: I see Alfred as being competitive, ambitious, and a prankster. So expect him to spend less time talking about being a hero and more time talking about being a Quidditch star.
> 
> Likewise, Arthur gets slotted into Slytherin fairly often, mostly to create delicious tension through an interhouse romance. Or possibly because he looks good in green. Yet he has a lot of great Gryffindor traits: he's brave, determined, and aspires to be a gentleman. (Plus, the house animal is a lion, how is that not perfect for Arthur?)


End file.
